The Lonely
by trifectaimperfecta
Summary: After Brittany's untimely death, Santana decides to find the lost Resurrection Stone and use it to bring her back. Pairing: Brittany/Santana Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry are also featured prominently.
1. Where Do I Begin?

**Title:** The Lonely  
><strong>Author:<strong>trifecta-imperfecta

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**Spoilers: **None for Glee, really, since it's a crossover. As for Harry Potter, there are multiple references to plot points from the final book.

**Author's Note:** Let me start by saying that killing off Brittany was the very last thing that I wanted to do. However, Christina Perri's song "The Lonely" put this idea in my head (hence both the title and the names of the chapters) and, once it took root, there was no dislodging it until I had typed out the story in full. That being said, I hope you enjoy the end result. Feel free to review or simply send me a message to let me know you read it! I'd love to hear your feedback.

* * *

><p>There were once two women who were wandering through a cold, condemning world of silence. They completed one another the way that sunshine follows rain and summer warms the frost of winter. Simultaneously, the two were each other's most fortifying strength and most crippling weakness. Their bond was, by its very nature, a contradiction in terms - as unlikely a union as that of water and fire. Yet these forces of nature raged side-by-side. They cleared a path for themselves through the leers and the lies and thenceforth allowed only love to spring up from the ashes. But fate still held its ultimate cruelty in store: it extinguished the beloved embodiment of light. In the other's absence, the incomplete half was left to the darkness where melancholy and madness waited with open jaws to swallow her whole.<p>

_... ... ..._

It had been just seven days since Brittany died. A solitary week and already Santana's life was reduced to a series of meaningless numbers. Seven days of unfelt sunshine... six nights of chilling vacancy in the bed they once shared... five times she could have sworn she heard her voice and answered it before she remembered... four letters bearing condolences from those who could not possibly understand... three flowers that she had placed on the grave - _birth_, _life_, _death_... two blue eyes they allowed her to close on the day that her heart stopped beating... and one soul that had, for the first time in their lives, travelled to a place that its mate could not follow.

Lately, the last number had taken on a new and peculiar meaning.

When they were both still in school, Brittany's mother read them The Tale of the Three Brothers. The girls were held spellbound by the plot from start to finish. It was easily one of the most captivating stories taught to young witches and wizards, with its tantalizing notions of bargaining with Death. When she had finished, Mrs. Pierce told them that, according to a more recent legend, the Deathly Hallows described in those pages had resurfaced.

This vaguely supported rumor circled, not surprisingly, around none other than the famous Harry Potter. Varying tales of his triumphant victory over Lord Voldemort abounded, but in several accounts there were mentions of objects whose descriptions resembled that of the Hallows. Some of those who had attended school with Potter recalled escapades involving an Invisibility Cloak and they asserted that this item must still be in his possession. As to the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, reports were even less reliable. Their generally accepted fate was that the former had been destroyed and the latter was lost. Harry Potter himself, however, refused to give these suspicions any confirmed validity.

The two young witches had been terribly excited by the thought of such incredible treasures actually existing in the world. Mrs. Pierce was quick to quiet their eager chatter by dismissing the accounts as idle gossip. It was appealing to think that such things were true, of course, but the likelihood was that they were merely tall tales invented by ordinary people seeking their fifteen minutes of fame.

In light of her current circumstances, Santana now found herself either unable or simply unwilling to be so sure.

With each passing day, she became increasingly possessed by the idea that she might be able to locate the lost Hallow. If the diluted details that had trickled down through word-of-mouth were even remotely accurate, perhaps she could be the one to discover the stone's whereabouts. A nagging whisper of worry tugged at the back of her consciousness. It tried to caution her that involvement with such powerful magic was frequently dangerous and often resulted in tragedy. Santana pushed those concerns aside. Her situation could not possibly be worsened. After all, what else did she have left to lose? On the other hand, she had so very much to gain. To be with Brittany again, to see her smile and hear her laugh... It was a heart-wrenching possibility worth every risk.

So the grief-stricken widow turned her complete attention to the task. She did her best to research the Resurrection Stone's history, especially how its path intertwined with that of The Boy Who Lived. The most consistent theory seemed to be that he had deliberately disposed of it in The Forbidden Forest. Beyond that, there was very little to go on regarding its exact placement in those enchanted woods. Such a search, based on so few and unhelpful clues, would no doubt prove daunting and nigh impossible.

It did not matter. Santana's mind was made up. On the 1st of September, when students from miles around convened at King's Cross Station to board the awaiting train, she would return to Hogwarts.

_... ... ..._

It was an infernally windy afternoon when she was at last able to set her plan in motion. Santana stood at the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the metal tracks far below. The breeze lifted tendrils of her coal black locks off her bronze shoulders and it billowed them out around her face. Her features were set in concentration with eyes narrowed and lips pursed as she strained for the first sight of the train.

In her left hand, she gripped the curved end of her old Nimbus 2015. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the smooth handle pressed against her palm. She wore a small pack slung over her right shoulder, expanded by an Undetectable Extension Charm that had taken several tries to perfect. In it were all the basic essentials that might be needed for a lengthy trek through the wilderness. Now the only fear was that "lengthy" might be modified to "indefinite," in which case her supplies would prove insufficient.

A distant whistle echoed off the verdant hills. Santana snapped to attention. A tiny, black-and-scarlet blur appeared at the farthest reach of her vision. Gradually, that speck grew larger until it took the familiar form of the engine from her childhood. She hurriedly straddled her broomstick and crouched low, poised for take-off. The ground shook underfoot as the Hogwarts Express chugged nearer. The train wound its way around the base of the cliff, weaving a serpentine path through the trees on either side. When half of the interlinked cars had gone by, the dark haired woman kicked off the cliffside and followed.

In spite of everything, the joy of flight still sent a thrill through Santana's heart. It had been so long since she travelled in this way and the freedom provided a welcome release. She breathed the fresh air deep into her lungs and, in that moment, it was difficult to avoid feeling optimistic. Things were off to an excellent start. Before the day was out, she would reach her destination and begin her search. It would be just a short time, surely, until she held that wondrous stone in her hands. Only a little longer and the hollow ache in her chest could heal.

Such were her beliefs while soaring through the sky. The skills she had honed in her days on the Slytherin Quidditch team came back to her with pleasant ease. She guided her broom along its course with a confident touch. For the first time since the grief had set in, Santana found herself smiling.

_Soon, Brittany_, she vowed silently._ I'll be there soon. You won't be alone much longer, I promise. I'll find you. _

_... ... ..._

Night had fallen by the time the train at last came to a halt. Santana's fingers were beginning to cramp and her kneecaps ached. Still, her breath caught in her chest when she was met with the sight of that magnificent castle in the distance.

_Hogwarts_.

It was the place that, for seven years, she and Brittany had called home. Half the memories of their times together circled around those stone walls and the myriad rooms and chambers within. There were countless recollections of walks through the halls, pinkies linked, and of late-night adventures sneaking into one another's dormitories. The weary brunette hovered in the air for a while, simply remembering, until at last the lump in her throat grew too painful and she had to turn away. She pressed her body close to her broom and shot off toward the Forbidden Forest, anxious to find a place to camp for the night.

The black silhouettes of the trees spread out in all directions. Her dark eyes scanned their ranks for a break that would indicate a clearing but it seemed to take an eternity for one to become visible. When at last she located a spot that looked promising, Santana's shoulders sagged with relief. She guided herself down for a graceful landing and alighted on the grass.

The sounds of crickets and other nocturnal creatures filled the air, disrupting the stillness. Santana shivered at some of the unidentifiable noises in the shadows and decided to walk the perimeter to put up some protective charms before settling in for the evening. She withdrew her wand from the pack resting against her back and whispered the necessary words with each step that she took. With that done, she pitched her tent and started a fire.

It was as she sat before the flames warming her hands that the pain set in again. Santana shouldered the burden of it readily, having grown accustomed to such attacks each time that she faced another night alone. She tucked her legs up against her chest and allowed the rush of sensations to wash over her mind. Everything came back in perfect and vivid detail as if it were playing out in front of her.

She could still see the way the sunlight had given an almost heavenly glow to Brittany's hair in the morning. The smell of the blonde's perfume filled her nostrils and brought a smile to her lips. The woman's memory called up the echo of her lover's laugh and she could feel the smooth curve of her back as it pressed against her while they slept. When the taste of Brittany's kiss graced her lips, Santana covered her mouth with her palm to fight back a sob.

The touch of cool metal caught her attention and she withdrew her hand to look at the gold band that rested on her third finger. Tears streamed down her face as she gazed at the circle which had been in place so long now that she couldn't remove it. The ring's mate was buried with its owner, still bearing the matching inscription that Brittany had chosen when she had the set made.

_Proudly so_.

Two simple words with a lifetime of meaning.

With a heavy sigh, Santana rose to her feet and went inside the tent. She flopped onto her cot and stared up into the darkness. The images and feelings continued to assault her consciousness and she mentally steeled herself for the sleepless hours that loomed ahead. However, the fatigue from her journey coupled with the emotional exhaustion from what she had just experienced ultimately slipped her unexpectedly from reality into dream.

_... ... ..._

Two weeks after she arrived in the forest, Santana was still not making any real progress. Every morning, she got up bright and early to scour a new section of the woods but to no avail. Such a remarkably tiny object could be literally anywhere and she had no trustworthy insight to guide her.

To make matters worse, the comfort of her current style of living was wearing thin. The air was growing chill, for one, howling through the sides of her tent and leaving her with the warning signs of an oncoming cold. Her feet were beginning to callous and blister from the constant walking and each day brought with it new insect bites in inexplicable places on her body. Her food supply was beginning to dwindle and she was desperate for a proper shower. She bathed whenever she could find sufficient water to do so, but she was always dirty again within the hour and believed that she was beginning to smell faintly of fish.

Santana ran a hand through her disheveled hair and winced as the strands caught on her cracked fingernails. Hours upon hours of scraping the earth had taken their toll. If only she felt some kind of draw to a specific area, an internal instinct that could point her in the right direction...

A sudden thought occurred to her then and she pulled the wand out of her back pocket to give the new idea a go. She tried to remember the illustration of the stone from the books she had read and focused on its image as clearly as she could in her mind.

"_Accio Resurrection Stone!_" she exclaimed with her eyes still closed.

Cautiously, she peeped out at the surrounding trees and rocks. She listened for a moment with her head cocked to one side, hoping to hear the approach of something small whizzing through the air.

Nothing.

"Damn," she grumbled as she returned her wand to its former place. "I suppose it was worth a try."

And so she continued. The endless stretch of days and weeks turned into a month and her positivity began to wane. Every time that she felt herself losing faith, she spoke the story of her relationship with Brittany aloud to remind herself why she was still fighting. To simplify things, she turned it into a tale of flowery words that flowed out easily, much like the ones that she and her wife had been told as children. This recitation became like a mantra. It lifted Santana above her troubles and set her feet down in front of each other in a plodding sort of rhythm.

_There were once two women... _

But even this could not fortify her for long. When at last her travels took her to the edge of the woods, bringing Hogwarts back into view, she felt undeniably lost. She supposed that she could return to the place where she had slept that first night and set off in the opposite direction. However, the prospect overwhelmed her. Santana's vision blurred with her disappointment and she turned on her heel to go back the way she came. Everything down to her bones seemed heavy to her now and it took all her effort just to keep moving.

A ragged sob tore from her throat and once the first tears fell a battalion of others followed their lead. She could not stop their flow and they made it increasingly difficult for her to see. Her awkward, fumbling steps eventually led her to a clearing identical to every other that she had seen over the last thirty days. Somehow, the very sameness of that place threw her into an even greater fit of hysterics and she collapsed to her knees in the middle of it.

Santana looked up through the trees overhead, past the branches lined by cobwebs that glistened with dew, and stared at the sky. It was vast and cloudless, a blank and uncomforting slate. Her shoulders shook as her head dropped down onto her chest. The anguish clawed at her heart and she dug her fingers deep into the ground beneath her. With shaking hands, she lifted her muddy palms to her face and scraped her nails down her cheeks, wailing to the empty air.

"Brittany, I'm sorry! I failed. I've tried everything I could think of and I still can't bring you back. What the hell did I think I was doing? I'm so sorry."

She said those last three words again and again and repeated the dragging motion through the dirt and along her face. The dark haired woman's pitiful moans echoed all around her but she was too lost in her sorrow to hear them.

A sharp sting flared at the top of her cheekbone and ran down her jawline, following the path of her fingers. Santana felt warm drops trickling down to her chin and realized that she had inadvertently drawn blood. She looked for what it was in the dirt that had scraped her since such a deep wound could not have been caused by her short nails.

There, embedded in the mud on her left hand, was a little black rock. She plucked it out and held it up to the light for closer examination. It certainly didn't look all that lethal. The edges were a bit rough but certainly not razor sharp. Evidently, she had been attacking her own face with more force than she realized. Santana turned the object over in her right palm, still considering it, and her gaze fell on something that made her pulse stop and then quicken.

There were lines carved into one side of its surface. Not the wear and tear brought on by exposure to the elements but intentional engraving. What was more; these lines formed a symbol that was all-too-familiar to her now: the sign for the Deathly Hallows. A deep crack ran vertically through the rock but on either side of that break were the two halves of a circle enclosed in a triangle. An awed gasp sucked through Santana's parted lips.

The Resurrection Stone.

The woman was in such a state of shock that her clumsy fingers nearly dropped it. She pulled herself to her feet and dusted off her pants. Her eyes never once left the unbelievable object clasped in her hand. She wanted to cry again but, after the pit of despair from which she had just escaped, she was utterly spent.

Santana shook all over as she tried to prepare herself for what she was about to do. All her nerve endings were alive with excitement and apprehension. Tiny talons of doubt clawed at her chest and gave rise to the fear that it might not work. She shook her head to dismiss the thought and focused instead on the one she had lost.

With an attention to the miniscule made possible only by years of study, she called up every feature in her mind's eye. Then, after a steadying breath, she slowly turned the stone over in her hand.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

An outline appeared a few yards from where she stood and filled instantly into a form she would have known anywhere. Muscular legs toned from countless hours of dancing, a slender torso, long arms that provided a singular sort of comfort, topped by a uniquely pretty face surrounded by a golden cascade of hair, all came into focus before her. Steel blue eyes that had always been able to pierce her soul, even when she was most keen on keeping herself hidden, now met her gaze steadily.

Santana felt a jumble of phrases jostle inside her head, fighting for the upper hand. Her throat threatened to close off from the emotion that was causing it to become painfully constricted. Ultimately, every sentence and sentiment that she had longed to utter during her unbearable solitude culminated in the one simple word that summarized the whole:

"Brittany."


	2. Dancing Slowly in an Empty Room

The moment seemed so fragile that neither of them dared to move.

Santana was having trouble breathing. Brittany, on the other hand, stood calm and watchful. There was a soft and affectionate smile on her lips. Their eyes roved over one another and drank in every inch, only to lift once more and meet the other's gaze.

The stone had worked; she was back. Granted, she was not quite flesh but she was undeniably solid. The blades of grass bent beneath her feet and she cast a faint shadow across the ground.

Hesitantly, Santana allowed herself to step closer. Brittany followed suit and met her in the middle. The brunette raised her left hand between them and held it as still as she could while her whole body trembled. Her wife did the same with her right and slowly brought their palms together. The touch was cooler and lighter than it should have been but she could feel her.

That brief connection was all it took. A grateful cry escaped Santana and she grabbed the back of Brittany's neck to pull the blonde's face to hers. The kiss made her knees go weak and her head spin but she didn't dare to let go. Her free hand clung desperately to the Resurrection Stone, knowing that if she released it her lover would disappear again.

"I missed you," she whispered. As her mouth opened to utter the words, she tasted salt from tears she didn't know she had shed.

"I missed you, too," Brittany murmured while she pressed one hand against Santana's cheek.

The other woman's eyes caught sight of the gash on the opposite side and her mouth turned down in a little frown.

"You're hurt," she noted. "What happened to you?"

Santana averted her eyes in shame.

"It's been a long, hard search finding a way to bring you back to me," she explained vaguely to avoid having to give a direct answer. "So much for looking my best when I got the chance to see you again..."

Brittany shook her head dismissively.

"You look beautiful, Santana," she assured her. "Just like always."

The brunette felt her face grow warm as her wife grinned at her. Brittany tenderly kissed the injured cheek and then reached down to take her hand.

"So, where do we go first?"

The shorter woman thought for a moment. Then her face lit up and she gave her spouse's fingers an eager squeeze.

"Follow me."

They strode in silence out of the clearing with Santana leading the way. The simple joy of walking together, of falling into step side-by-side, was almost too sweet to bear. They left the forest after a while but didn't come to a complete halt until they had reached the edge of the lake. All of the students were busy with classes inside the school so they had the grounds to themselves. The sunlight bounced off the water and the breeze stirred its surface, causing the light to dance prettily on the tiny waves that the wind created.

"Why here?" Brittany asked as they both admired the view.

"This is where we first met," Santana replied. "Don't you remember?"

"Of course I do."

...

The bank was crowded with countless First Years all chattering away excitedly as they clambered into the little boats. Hagrid, the new students' guide, paced along the line calling out instructions and grouping them all off into small clusters. Santana was standing alone and craning her neck as though looking for friends when she knew that she had none. The impossibly tall grounds keeper pointed to the brunette and put her with a trio of equally frightened girls. One was even shorter than her with straight brown hair and a prominent nose and another - who for some reason looked vaguely familiar - had a carefully-arranged appearance and long, pale blonde hair that she kept tossing over her shoulders. The third was Brittany.

Even then, she was striking. Thin and leggy, she was at least three inches taller than half the students bustling along the sand. Her sleek, blonde hair fairly glowed in the light of the lanterns and the smile that she flashed at Santana when they were placed in the same group was instantly disarming.

"Hi," she began immediately when they were close enough to speak. "I'm Brittany. What's your name?"

"Santana Lopez," the dark haired girl answered, emphasizing her surname with pureblood pride.

"It's nice to meet you," Brittany said, still grinning, clearly unaware that she was supposed to be impressed.

"I'm Rachel Berry," interjected the other brunette that Hagrid had put with them.

"Pleasure," Santana snarled in return, making it clear that was one thing it was not.

"Quinn Fabray," stated the fourth girl, completing the introductions.

_Oh, that explains it_, thought Santana. _Fabray. Another pureblood_.

She and Quinn exchanged curt nods of recognition, having both made the connection to their common thread.

They all shook hands awkwardly and only Brittany seemed legitimately delighted by this arrangement. They climbed into the waiting boat, faltering occasionally as they decided where each of them would sit. Ultimately, Rachel took the seat nearest to the front. She locked her brown eyes on the outline of the school in the distance and refused to look away. Quinn sat at the back, clearly inclined to keep to herself for the duration of the journey. This left Brittany and Santana in the middle and seated next to each other as the boats pulled away from the shore.

"So what house do you think you'll be placed in?" Brittany asked eagerly as she nudged her companion good-naturedly in the ribs.

Santana was taken aback by how instantly at ease this girl was making herself, acting as if they had been friends for ages, but somehow she didn't find the behavior off-putting.

"Slytherin," she responded easily. "That's where my entire family has gone."

"No surprise," muttered Quinn but a sharp look from Santana silenced her.

"Slytherin?" Rachel asked worriedly as she faced them for the first time. "I thought that was the house where all the... unpleasant students were placed."

"Don't believe everything you hear," Santana replied. "Some are just driven and willing to sacrifice whatever it takes to get where they want to be."

"Well, that I could understand," the irritating girl determined brightly. "I myself would give anything to achieve my greatest dreams. No cost is too great."

"How inspiring," the cocky pureblood drawled.

"Thank you," Rachel beamed, unaware of the slight. The petite student's attention returned to the castle. Santana looked at Brittany and rolled her eyes. Her companion giggled and the brunette decided that maybe this girl was all right.

All the way across the water, her new friend talked her ear off happily. The blonde frequently accompanied her comments with a brush of the arm or a hand on the other girl's knee. Santana was unaccustomed to such affectionate familiarity but she allowed herself to enjoy the attention cautiously.

When at last they reached their destination and entered Hogwarts for the first time, she was surprised to feel slender fingers intertwine suddenly with hers - Brittany was squeezing her hand. The brunette drew comfort from the fact that this meant she was not the only one getting a sudden case of the jitters. The immense doors were swung wide before them and they entered the Great Hall with the rest of the incoming students.

Candles floated overhead and the ceiling twinkled with the stars that shone in the night sky. It took the girls' breath away. A sea of faces turned toward them as they passed, sizing them up and attempting to determine whether they were destined to become a friend or a foe. At the far end of the room, a stool was waiting with an old, worn-out lump of cloth sitting atop it: the Sorting Hat.

As was customary, the hat sang a tune for the First Years detailing the qualities possessed by members of each house. Then it was time for the placement to commence. Rachel Berry was called first and she fairly leapt forward to learn her fate.

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat cried and she sprang from her seat and made her way toward the appropriate table. Right away, she began to converse with a couple of perturbed Sixth Years, both of whom tried their level best to ignore her. Santana's lip curled.

_Great, just what I need. So help me, if we're in the same dorm..._

Her thoughts were interrupted as the next sorting occurred. She silenced her mental complaints so she could pay attention. Her palms were growing sweaty but the press of Brittany's skin against hers somehow steadied her pulse. She gripped the girl's hand with appreciative force and granted the blonde a small smile.

Five Gryffindors and another Slytherin later, it was Quinn Fabray's turn to be sorted.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat exclaimed. She was the first of the night. The rows of her peers exploded with applause and happily cleared room for another intellectual among their number.

And so it went on. Santana tried to remember the order as the evening progressed: Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw...

Then her name was called.

Her throat went dry. She was dimly aware of Brittany extracting her fingers from her painful grasp and gently pushing her in the direction of the stool. On shaky legs, Santana made her way to the spot and sat down heavily. Her hands trembled as she put the hat on her head.

A moment later, just as she had predicted, it placed her in Slytherin. Half-blinded by her cross-eyed relief, Santana stumbled in the direction of her awaiting table. She drummed her hands against her thighs as she sat waiting for the only other outcome that mattered to her now.

A few names later, it was Brittany's time to go and Santana's pulse kicked into double-time. The happy young girl bounded up to the stool and tugged the Sorting Hat into place. Her Slytherin companion crossed her fingers in her lap, all the while praying for a miracle.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat concluded at last and Santana's heart sank to her stomach. Her first new acquaintance and already they were being separated.

Brittany hopped off the stool and walked toward the beckoning students calling her name, but not before pausing to give Santana a regretful little wave. The sad brunette returned the gesture.

Later, when all the students had at last been sorted, the dark haired girl was dumbfounded as Brittany left the Hufflepuff table to join her for dinner. This earned her a great many whispers and several unkind jeers but she neither seemed to notice nor care.

"Brittany," Santana cautioned her in an undertone. "Students from different houses aren't supposed to eat together."

"Well, they do now," the other girl replied around a mouthful of pumpkin pasty. "I want to eat my first Hogwarts meal with you."

The brunette was overcome by a surge of affection and issued no further protest. She dug into the food herself and contentedly allowed the blonde to dominate the conversation for the rest of the night. Brittany proved even more charming and funny than she had initially estimated, and from that point on Santana happily awarded her the mental title of best friend.

...

Resurfacing from her vivid memory, Santana blinked rapidly to clear her blurry vision. She glanced at her spouse and saw that Brittany, too, appeared overcome by emotion as she stared wistfully at the stone structure on the opposite side of the lake.

Sensing the other woman's eyes on her, the blonde turned to meet her gaze.

"The moment that started it all," Santana marveled with a laugh and a shrug. "Who knew?"

"I did."

The brunette's smile returned and she tugged Brittany in for another kiss.

At last, the dark haired woman reluctantly broke the connection to ask a question that had been troubling her mind.

"Britt, we really need to get back but I can't hold onto the stone while I fly. If I call you to me once I've returned, will you still be able to come?"

Her wife nodded.

"I'll come back," the blonde assured her. "I promise."

"Okay," Santana agreed while biting her lip.

She slid the stone deep into the pocket of her pants and Brittany vanished. A momentary pang stabbed her chest but she comforted herself with the fact that it was only for a little while.

Lovingly, she patted the spot where the stone rested against her thigh.

"Come on, Brittany," she said aloud. "Let's go home."

_... ... ..._

The house was even more of a wreck than it had been when Santana left it. Now, instead of being merely untidy and cluttered, it also had a thin film of dust over every flat surface and bird droppings from owls that had delivered the mail in her absence. She sighed heavily as she surveyed the mess, too exhausted from the flight home to see to it straight away.

Her footsteps echoed through the vacant rooms as she made her way to the kitchen. Piles of letters were strewn across her countertop, waiting to be opened. A quick scan of the envelopes told her that the most recent was from Quinn Fabray. With a scarcely-suppressed eye roll, she picked it up and tugged it open.

_Santana,_

_I haven't seen you at the Ministry lately. I asked around and found out you took an extended vacation. Did you go somewhere? Maybe that's good for you, getting out of the house and away from the memories. Still, I'd feel better if I could just hear from you. I'm not trying to be a nuisance, I swear. I just want to help._

_Your Friend, _

_Quinn_

Santana gave a short, quick laugh at the other woman's choice of words in her signature. She turned her attention to the other letters in the pile. Aside from that unwanted offer, the rest of the notes appeared to be more condolences from people who had taken a while to hear the news. After skimming through a few, she swept the lot into the nearest drawer and shut it tightly.

She was by no means in a cleaning mood, so she flicked her wand around the room and allowed the house to take care of itself. The sooner everything was tidy, the sooner she would feel comfortable bringing Brittany back to see what had become of the place where they both once lived. For the moment, her bed was calling too loudly to be ignored so Santana readily succumbed. Her feet carried her to her bedroom and the mattress within, where she flopped down gratefully. She fell asleep almost before her body made contact with the sheets.

In what seemed like no time at all, the brunette awoke to a shrill noise sounding directly into her eardrum. She snarled and buried her face in her arms, hoping to block it out. Something clamped down on her earlobe and it promptly exploded in pain. Santana jerked up immediately and pressed her fingertips to the injury.

The owl that had assigned itself the role of alarm clock maintained its position beside her on the bed and glared severely. The dark haired woman looked down at her hand and saw that, for the second time that week, her head was bleeding.

"Shit, Athena!" she swore angrily at Quinn's pet. She held out her bloodied fingers to show the creature the damage it had done but the animal appeared unmoved. "Where's the fire? Why did you have to wake me up?"

The owl stuck out its leg, where a rolled up piece of parchment was tied, and shook it impatiently. Santana untied the note and opened it, scanning the contents.

_Santana,_

_Look, I know you need space and time to deal with everything but I don't want you to sacrifice your job in the process. The Wizengamot will only understand for so long. Now that you're your only source of income, I don't like to think about what will happen to you if they decide they've had enough. Just come back to the Ministry. You have friends here, you know, whether you like to count them as such or not. If not them, you at least have me. Don't roll your eyes, either, because it's true. Just WRITE BACK TO ME, you git, and I promise I'll stop bothering you._

_Quinn_

Athena squawked again as she finished the letter and the bird gave the woman a meaningful look.

"Oh, fine," Santana snapped. "Here, take this and then take off."

She fished around in her nightstand for the container of scraps she kept for the purpose. With her lip curled in annoyance, she tossed a few to the hungry owl who gulped them down greedily. The satisfied creature immediately spread its wings and flew from the room while it released a final cry in farewell.

Once her company was gone, the widow climbed out of bed to make sure that the house had been successfully straightened while she slept. When she was satisfied with what she saw, Santana waved her wand again and brought the cleaning supplies to rest.

Now all that remained was to get herself ready. She went to her closet, picked out a clean yellow dress, and then went to take a shower. Never had doing something so commonplace felt so wonderful. The month's grime finally washed away and the warm water brought comfort down to her very bones. When she was glistening and clean, she stepped out and dried off, examining herself in the mirror as she did so.

She had lost a significant amount of weight during her search. The lower half of her ribcage protruded beneath the skin and her cheekbones stood out more prominently on her face. Her full lips turned down in a frown, which only deepened when her eyes caught sight of that bothersome scar. The Resurrection Stone had certainly left its mark, marring her beauty with a jagged line from the bottom of her ear to just above her chin. Though Santana tried to cover it with make-up, the wound was still not sufficiently healed to prevent such attempts from causing a sting. Oh well. It would have to do.

Once she was dressed and reasonably presentable, the brunette reached into her discarded pants for the precious object still stored in the pocket. Her brown eyes closed instinctively as she called up her wife's image and turned the stone over again: once, twice, and thrice.

"Wow," Brittany commented after she appeared a few feet away. "It looks even better than I remembered."

"I may have cleaned just a little beforehand," Santana admitted with a shrug.

"And you're wearing the dress I bought you," the blonde noted happily.

"Yeah, I am. Do you like it?"

"It fits exactly like I thought it would. You didn't get to wear it before... before what happened. I'm glad I get to see you in it."

Her long legs carried her across the short distance between them in a second. Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana's waist with a grin. The brunette mirrored the expression before she pressed their lips together contentedly.

This was what she had missed most of all: the little moments.

The blonde spun them both in circles on the spot and hummed into her wife's ear. Then her bright eyes fell on the scroll of parchment on the nightstand and she paused.

"What's that?"

"Oh, just another letter from Quinn. The owls have been coming non-stop. You'd think I was running an aviary with as many birds as there have been coming in and out of here."

"She's a good friend," Brittany said, smiling softly. "I'm glad to know she's around to take care of you."

"I don't need her to take care of me," Santana protested. "I can handle things on my own."

And there was that soul-piercing gaze, so familiar that she didn't even have to look up to know that it was being leveled on her.

"Just write back to her, okay? For me?"

She nodded reluctantly and was thanked for her acquiescence with a kiss.

"Dance with me," the brunette whispered and the other woman readily complied.

They turned slowly around the room and fell easily into a matching rhythm. A smile spread immediately across the dark haired woman's face. It only widened when she saw how Brittany glowed with the thrill of the movement, having perhaps missed dancing second only to her longing for Santana.

The shorter woman leaned against her partner's shoulder and allowed her eyes to close as a distant memory swam to the surface of her consciousness.

...

They were around fourteen years old and winter was upon them. She had snuck into Brittany's dormitory for the umpteenth time and they were huddled under a blanket on the floor looking out the window together.

"I love it when it snows," the blonde murmured. "It gets so quiet and everything outside looks like it's covered in sugar."

Santana nodded and leaned in closer to her friend for warmth. The stone floor was chill beneath her bare feet, so she tucked them up against her thighs. Her companion noted her discomfort and she pulled the blanket tighter around their bodies.

"I'm really dreading the holidays, Britt."

"It's too bad your parents wouldn't let you come stay with us. I wanted my dad to take us sledding."

"That would have been nice," the brunette agreed quietly. "But my mother insisted that I come home. I can't even begin to understand why. It's not as if anyone would notice I was missing."

Brittany frowned and wrapped her arms around her. Santana batted her eyes and sniffled once while she fought valiantly to hold back the tears.

"Sometimes I wish I could just live with you when I'm not here," she admitted. "I know I'd be a hell of a lot happier."

"Sometimes I wish that, too."

"I don't know what I'd do without you. Half the time, I'm pretty sure you're the only one that even gives a damn that I'm alive."

"That's not true," Brittany protested. "Of course there are people that care about you. You're special, Santana."

The dark haired girl shook her head adamantly.

"You're the special one, Britt-Britt. I swear, I can't for the life of me figure out why you waste your time on me."

"Because I love you," the blonde stated simply with a shrug of her narrow shoulders.

Santana's head jerked up at the words. They had said all variations of them in the past but something in the other teen's tone caught the troubled girl's attention. She looked into her friend's eyes and suddenly her stomach was full of butterflies.

She wasn't entirely sure how it happened, or who made the first move, but the next thing she knew their faces were closer than they'd ever been before. Thin, smiling lips brushed against hers and she returned the caress with fervor. For a moment, the only sound was that of their breathing and she felt the other girl's hands tangle in her long, dark hair.

Her heartbeat was causing a searing pain in her chest and so Santana pulled away. Her mouth tried to form something - a sentence, a word, a question, an apology - but nothing would come out. Instead they both broke into nervous laughter and after a few minutes she felt herself slowly start to stabilize.

Brittany interlocked their fingers and looked back out the window. Santana would have loved for everything to just go back to normal after that but already she felt the first icy touch of doubt.

"Does this change things between us?" she asked hesitantly.

"Only if you want it to," her friend replied quietly.

"We're not friends anymore, are we?" she continued anxiously. "Not just friends, anyway."

"I guess not," Brittany mused. "Is that bad?"

Santana took a long look at the girl sitting beside her before responding. She gazed at her unbound blonde hair, which always smelled like wildflowers when they leaned their heads together. Her eyes fell on the mouth that had felt so good pressed to her own and that always seemed to find the right words to say. Lastly, she locked on the eyes that always saw her clearly, even when the masks she wore fooled the rest of the world.

"No," she answered finally. "No, it's not bad at all."

A relieved smile spread across her companion's face and the brunette's heart swelled to bursting. She made her happy.

"Come to the Yule Ball with me," Brittany urged. "You and I were trying to work out dates anyway. Now we don't have to. We'll go together."

Fear gripped at Santana's chest and throat. Her eyes widened and her mouth became inexplicably dry.

"Like... as a couple?"

"Sure, why not?" the blonde asked with a slightly furrowed brow.

"Because people don't do that around here."

"Who says? Besides, since when have we ever done things the same way as everyone else?"

"I'm not so sure that's such a good idea, Britt. I mean, it's fine for us to go and hang out and all but anything more... They're not ready for that. _I'm_ not ready for that."

Her friend's lip protruded as she heard the rejection but she didn't protest. Santana felt like a complete heel but she couldn't bring herself to change her mind.

"I have to go," she said finally and crossed the room to slip her shoes back onto her feet.

In a moment, she had darted from the room and left Brittany shivering alone in her absence.

...

Guilt flowed from Santana's aching heart and pulsed through her veins. Even after all these years, the way she had fled that day was one of her biggest regrets. She nuzzled her wife's shoulder blade and tried to block out the second recollection that she knew would follow.

The blonde twirling her around their bedroom continued to hum as she reflected. Santana struggled to hold onto that sound, to focus on the sensation of being in the arms of the woman she loved, but to no avail. The memory refused to be ignored.

...

After a few awkward conversations, Brittany had managed to put her at ease and insisted that it was still possible for them to go as friends. They would just have to be careful about how close they got to one another.

The night of the ball, they agreed to meet outside the doors to the Great Hall. Santana took ages carefully arranging her appearance but she still managed to get herself upstairs on time. She had piled her dark locks up at the back of her head with a few ringlets falling free to frame her face. Her strapless, emerald green dress hugged her form pleasantly and her heels added a few extra inches to her average height.

All the preparation was worth it when she saw the look on Brittany's face as she came into view. The blonde's mouth hung slightly agape and she seemed to temporarily forget how to breathe.

"You're beautiful," she blurted out involuntarily and then blushed as she remembered that she was supposed to be exercising discretion. "I mean, you look nice."

"So do you," the brunette returned.

_Really nice_.

Her golden hair pooled in a mass of thick curls on her shoulders and her salmon pink dress emphasized her already ample figure. Santana tried not to let her eyes linger along the plunging neckline but the temptation was almost too great.

"C'mon," Brittany said as she took the other girl's hand and interrupted her admiring appraisal. "Let's go dance."

The first half hour passed by uneventfully enough with loud, thumping music pulling all the students onto the floor. Quinn was there with a boy from Gryffindor and Rachel was merrily hopping around the hall, attempting to converse with anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path. Santana did her best to ignore them and focused her attention on Brittany and the synchronization of their movements. They were always mindful to keep a small amount of distance between themselves. However, it was readily apparent that they were oblivious to all but one another. After the initial adrenaline rush, the live band began to play some of the slower pieces on their set. That was when the trouble began.

The two girls did not have male partners for this portion of the festivities, and virtually everyone else was there with their dates, so that left only one choice: each other. Brittany held out her arms with a coy little smile and Santana was powerless to resist. She stepped into the embrace and they began to move as one. The flats on the blonde's feet and her own elevated footwear put them at the same height with blue eyes staring deeply into brown.

The nagging voice at the back of her mind tried to caution her against their actions but it didn't seem to matter so much just then. With what was crackling in the air between them, and with the sensation of their torsos gently grazing, what else could possibly be important? Best of all, she could tell that it meant just as much, if not more, to Brittany. She would not pull away this time, if only because she had sworn to herself not to cause her friend that kind of pain again.

The song finished and at last they lowered their arms. Both their faces were alight with irrepressible smiles. Then the worst possible noise broke through the magic: the sound of Rachel Berry's voice.

"Very well done, you two," she remarked as she walked closer to where they stood. "You danced beautifully! Others - like myself, as you might have seen - would have had to string along on their own in your situation or simply sit the dance out altogether. It's refreshing to see two young ladies unafraid of a less conventional way to remedy that dilemma."

Though there was nothing outright insulting about what she was saying, Santana felt her cheeks grow hot. Brittany's eyes flicked back and forth between them and her hands began to anxiously grip the fabric of her dress.

Then they were joined by an even more unexpected party.

"Sweetie," the girls heard Quinn say. "Could you go get us some punch?"

Once her date was out of earshot, the Ravenclaw strode quickly over. Her green gaze went not to Santana's darkening features but to the crestfallen expression Brittany was currently displaying. Then her pupils zeroed in on the petite brunette that had started the incident and her fury was unleashed.

"Hey, house elf, why don't you mind your own business?" she snarled through gritted teeth.

"I didn't mean any offense," Rachel protested while shying away from the intense anger radiating from her adversary. "Brittany and Santana's relationship is wonderfully unique..."

"And it also has nothing to do with you," Quinn cut her off. "So troll away somewhere else and keep your comments to yourself until you find someone who cares. Got it?"

"You're right. It isn't my business. I'm sorry. But, likewise, I don't see how it's any of yours..."

A flaming orange tint began at the arguing blonde's scalp and spread rapidly to the ends of every strand of hair. A few people unfamiliar with this rare ability either jumped or gasped but most simply smirked at the fact that was now abundantly clear: Quinn was pissed.

"It's my business because Brittany is my friend. I'm not going to let you ruin this night for her and I'm not gonna let you bother Santana, either because a friend of Britt's is a friend of mine. That's something you would know nothing about, considering you don't have any. Point being, they're under my watch and you do not want to cross me."

"You're a... you're a...," Rachel stammered, still too fixated on the girl's abrupt change in hair color to process the threat.

"A metamorphmagus," Quinn finished for her. "That's right. And if you know what's best for you, goblin, you'll just walk away before I decide to transform into one of your dorm mates tonight and hex you in your sleep."

The frightened Slytherin did as she was told and disappeared into the crowd with a terrified yelp. Instantly, Quinn was no longer a ginger. She smoothed her dress carefully before turning to the other two girls.

"You're welcome," she said simply and then walked off to find her dance partner.

After that dramatic production, everyone could hardly hide their stares. Santana felt the weight of the countless pairs of eyes upon herself and her best friend. Her vision swam with tears. She dashed out of the hall and toward the dungeons, aware all the while that Brittany was calling for her and following not far behind.

...

"What are you thinking about?" her spouse asked her, pulling the woman from her reverie.

For a moment, she considered lying but she knew that the blonde would glean the truth regardless.

"The Yule Ball."

"I thought it might be something like that," Brittany said with a nod. "You were sucking on your lip like you do when something's bothering you."

Santana flushed at being so easily read but her wife's keen observation did not surprise her.

"I still wish that Quinn hadn't intervened. She only made things worse."

"But her heart was in the right place," the other woman pointed out.

Santana sighed but she found herself smiling affectionately.

"You always did defend her. She was such a self-absorbed, self-satisfied snob when we were growing up. Only you could have seen some good through that."

"She helped me with my schoolwork whenever I needed it," Brittany reminded her. "And I could talk to her about us when you and I were having problems."

"Which I would have put a stop to straight away, if I'd known then."

"I needed someone outside of the situation," her wife said while chiding her for her irritability with a pinch on the arm. "She seemed to understand me, even though she was the best in our year and always had a boyfriend."

Santana groaned and pressed her pelvis teasingly against Brittany's thigh, hoping to distract her.

"Let's not talk about Quinn Fabray right now."

"Okay," the blonde agreed, responding exactly as she had been meant to. Her hands slid from Santana's waist and circled around to rest against her rump, pulling her even closer. The dark haired woman gave a throaty laugh and traced her tongue along the other woman's clavicle.

A fluttering of wings disrupted their quiet interaction and the brunette swore under her breath.

"What now?"

Sure enough, it was the same accursed owl that had visited earlier that day.

"Athena, if you fly in through that window one more time, I'm going to set you on fire," she growled.

The bird snapped its beak at her with equal menace and stuck out its leg for her to remove the new scroll tied there.

Reluctantly, Santana extracted herself from Brittany's hold and crossed over to fetch the letter. She scanned the contents as quickly as possible, eager to send the pesky deliverer on its way.

_Santana,_

_You're home! Finally! I'm so glad. I told Athena expressly not to leave my last letter behind unless you took it from her personally, and she came back with both legs free. It's such a relief to know that you at least made it back safely. Now that you're here again, I've been thinking-_

"What does it say?"

Brittany wrapped her arms around Santana's stomach and rested her chin on her shoulder. The shorter woman continued to read. As she reached the last line, her jaw dropped and, unfortunately, so did the Resurrection Stone still clutched in her other hand. Instantly, the feeling of her wife's presence disappeared.

She turned and announced the message to the empty room.

"Quinn's coming."


	3. A Quiet Lullaby

The ticking of the clock sounded through the otherwise silent kitchen. Each clack of its moving hands jarred Santana's nerves but she kept her face as stoic as possible.

Quinn Fabray could not have looked more out of place sitting opposite her. Her prim and proper comportment stood in stark contrast to the casual clutter and hodgepodge decor of the Pierce-Lopez household. Two cups of tea sat untouched on the table and released tendrils of steam into the oppressively tense air between them.

"You're looking a bit rough," Quinn commented at last. "What happened to your face?"

"It's good to see you, too. How's life been treating you?" Santana queried sarcastically.

"Sorry, I guess that wasn't the best lead-in. It's just that you've got a pretty nasty scar that I don't remember being there before."

"It was just a freak accident," the dark haired woman explained with a dismissive wave. "Don't worry about it."

"All right," the blonde said slowly, clearly holding back a dozen follow-up questions. "Let's change topic. How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected."

"That's good. Keeping busy?"

"Yep."

"Have you spoken to the council about the extra time you took off?" Quinn questioned anxiously. "Did they mind you adding an additional two weeks?"

"I contacted them briefly. I told them if it really bothered them that much, I'd just call it an advance on future vacation time and not take any breaks for the following year."

"And that actually worked?" the former Ravenclaw asked incredulously.

Santana shrugged.

"They're familiar with my reputation in the courtroom and they're not keen to get on my bad side."

"It's lucky you're the best at what you do," the other woman remarked as she took a tentative sip of her tea. "It gives you a little leeway to make demands."

"One of many advantages," the brunette agreed. "The salary doesn't hurt, either. Listen, Fabray, I've never been very good with small talk so I'm just gonna get straight to the point. I apologize if this comes out a bit bluntly. We were never exactly what I would call friends. So tell me why is it that, all of a sudden, you've got your nose up my ass?"

Quinn's face flushed and she took another drink before responding.

"The truth is, Santana, this isn't entirely my choice. It's something I promised Brittany. She always wanted to know that somebody else would have your back if she wasn't around. You don't exactly make that easy for people to do so she assigned the task to me. She was a wonderful woman and a fantastic friend so I said yes. It was the least I could do and no amount of surliness from you is going to make me go back on my word."

Santana shook her head and smiled. _Brittany_. Even though she'd had no way of anticipating her fate, her first concern had been ensuring that the love of her life would not be left alone.

"Fair enough," she told the other woman. "I appreciate the way you're respecting her wishes."

"Thank you," Quinn replied curtly as she smoothed her skirt to avoid eye contact.

"Anything else you want to ask me about during this check-up, doc?"

The blonde tightened her lips and fought to suppress her annoyance at how quickly her companion's acerbic wit had returned.

"Not really. I just wanted to check on you and see how you were doing," Quinn said as she rose and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. "I suppose it's comforting to find that you're the same as ever. Where did you go on your vacation?"

"Camping. Fresh air helps me clear my head."

The two women walked to the front hall with Santana in the lead, ready to open the door and send her visitor on her way.

"Just send me a letter if you need anything," Quinn told her as she paused in the doorway to look back at the widow. "Or you can just come over. It doesn't matter what time; I'll help you in any way I can."

"Thanks, I'll remember that."

The blonde hesitated a moment and the dark haired woman had to struggle to keep from stomping her foot with impatience.

"You're... you're not the only one who suffered a loss here. Just keep that in mind. Take care of yourself, Santana."

The brunette opened her mouth to reply but Quinn had already disapparated, leaving her infuriated at the fact that her old rival had gotten the last word.

_... ... ..._

"How did it go?" Brittany asked while she brushed her fingers along her wife's furrowed brow.

Santana had climbed into bed and summoned her almost immediately after Quinn's departure. They were now nestled side-by-side on the mattress with their limbs intertwined.

The smaller woman huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"As awkward as it's always been with us," she said. "However, I did gather from her that this impromptu display of uncharacteristic friendliness was at your behest."

Brittany kissed her neck to drive away her frown.

"Guilty as charged," she admitted as she propped herself up on her elbows. "Are you mad?"

Santana tried to scowl but couldn't maintain the expression, try as she might.

"No," she admitted. "I just wish you would have given me a bit of a heads up first."

"So you could change your address and hide, just to avoid having to owe her anything?" Brittany asked with a knowing smile.

"I guess you're right. I don't tend to welcome other people into my life with open arms."

"Except for me."

"Yeah, but that's you," Santana said. "It's different. You always did have a way of managing to be the exception to every rule."

Her wife smiled at the round-about compliment and pressed her lips to Santana's gratefully. She broke the contact to rest her head over the dark haired woman's heart and listen to its steady drumming. The pleasant familiarity of the moment helped calm the brunette's agitated nerves and left her feeling overwhelmingly sleepy. Even after her brief nap, she was still exhausted. She snuggled more comfortably into her side of the bed and played lazily with a few strands of the other woman's hair.

"Sing a song for me, Britt," she murmured drowsily.

"Which one do you want to hear?"

"What about that muggle one that your father used to sing sometimes?" she suggested. "The one we had played at our wedding. Do you remember how it goes?"

"Yeah, I do. I always thought it was so pretty."

"Sing it for me."

"_I may not always love you, but long as there are stars above you, you never need to doubt it. I'll make you so sure about it. God only knows what I'd be without you..."_

Brittany trailed off as she noticed her spouse's eyelids beginning to droop.

"Keep going," Santana urged as she opened one eye to look at her. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."

"Okay," the blonde agreed quietly.

She shifted so she could stroke her wife's hair while she continued. The other woman rubbed her back appreciatively and smiled.

"_If you should ever leave me, though life would still go on believe me, the world could show nothing to me. So what good would living do me? God only knows what I'd be without you_."

The brunette drifted off again and the tension in her body eased as Brittany melodically repeated the last line.

"_God only knows what I'd be without you... God only knows what I'd be without you... God only knows..._"

At last, Santana's fingers relaxed and uncurled. The Resurrection Stone dropped from her limp hand onto the floor. Brittany vanished and the smaller woman was left unconsciously alone in the otherwise empty bed.

If only she could have held onto that peace while she was dreaming. However, it was then that a ghost of an entirely different nature than that of her late wife rose from the past to haunt her.

...

It was the summer before their final year at Hogwarts. Santana still wasn't sure what had prompted her to tell the truth; all she knew, then and now, was that she couldn't live with the lie a moment longer. So she decided to finally talk to her parents.

Knowing that she couldn't face that conversation alone, she sent an owl to Brittany asking her to come help. The distance between their houses wasn't very great, as the crow flies, so the blonde was climbing off her broom in front of the Lopez residence within an hour.

Santana ran out to meet her and nearly bowled the other girl over as she threw her arms around her neck. They walked into the house hand-in-hand and the smaller teen asked the blonde to wait for her in the living room while she called for her mother and father. They answered the sound of her voice almost immediately and then there was no turning back.

The two girls sat beside one another on the couch, facing Mr. and Mrs. Lopez, and Santana finally confessed the feelings she had been hiding from them for longer than she cared to remember. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when her revelation was initially met with only confusion and a series of questions. However, that would have been relaxing a moment too soon.

When she grabbed Brittany's hand and told them of her love for the person at her side, the shift in their moods was drastic and immediate. Santana wondered which infuriated them more: that this girl had been carrying on a secret sexual relationship with their daughter for nearly two years or that she was a half-blood? Regardless of whichever was the answer, the news left her mother speechless and threw her father into a terrifying rage.

He bore down upon them both and his face grew crimson and contorted. His moustache twitched furiously as his mouth tried to form words that would accurately express his objections to this match.

"How dare you?" he demanded. "You lying, sneaky, ungrateful little brat. You have some nerve..."

His black eyes felt as if they were burning a hole through her. Santana pressed herself as far back into the couch as she could to escape his wrath.

"Bad enough that you had to tell your mother and me about these unnatural desires you have, but then you chose to invite _her_ here on the day that you did it? You expect us to welcome this filthy abomination into our family? We were already being remarkably lenient allowing the two of you to be friends! For God's sake, Santana! _¿Dónde está tu cabeza?_ What were you thinking? We may not have instilled you with all of the values we might have hoped, but we certainly didn't raise a blood traitor..."

The brunette's lip curled at the way he had insulted the other girl but, in spite of herself, her eyes smarted with tears at his disappointment in her conduct. Then he rounded on the other teen.

"And you!" the man thundered so loudly that it reverberated through the house and made the blonde flinch as if she had been struck. "How can you possibly sit here before me as if you have any right whatsoever to make a claim on my daughter's affections? You know the shameful lineage you possess and you are aware of our feelings on that matter. Yet here you are, acting as if the firstborn of a half-witted witch and a filthy mudblood could ever be worthy to so much as breathe the same air as a descendant of the flawless Lopez line..."

"_Flawless_?" Santana at last interjected as she stood. "Even you aren't that delusional. They're far from perfect. They're inbred, Papi! That was the only way to keep the line 'pure.' "

"Our ancestors did what needed to be done, and never once did that include allowing this sort of disgraceful riff-raff..."

"Don't talk about Brittany like that! She's a human being and more worthy of love than this entire family put together, myself included. Hell, I'm lucky she'll even have me, considering that this is the sort of supremacist, prejudiced, outdated stock I come from! I'm embarrassed to share your name!"

Her father's hand flew so quickly that she had no way of anticipating or blocking the blow. Santana crumpled upon impact and her face struck the edge of the end table beside the sofa. She pushed back up to her feet almost immediately. A slow trickle of blood slid from the wound beside her eye and pooled at the corner of her mouth.

The injured girl spat out the unpleasant taste of iron and nodded the grim acceptance of her father's reaction. Then Santana suddenly realized that the blonde was standing next to her, had rushed to her side the moment she fell, and she drew courage from the way her girlfriend's hands gripped her protectively.

"You know what?" she demanded. "The sad thing is it doesn't even matter if you hit me. The fact is, I'm going to take Brittany's name as my own and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."

A glint appeared in her father's eye. Challenge accepted. He reached into his pocket and drew his wand. His daughter crossed her arms over her chest and glared. However, when he leveled it, the end pointed not at his defiant child but at her lover. Santana tried to push Brittany out of harm's way but her timing was off by a fraction of a second. The curse grazed the side of the girl's head as it passed and a crimson flow immediately spilled from the gash. Dazed, the blonde grabbed the other teen's hand as they tried to run toward the front door.

Mr. Lopez attacked again, not even bothering to speak the necessary words. His arm merely jabbed through the air and the force of his fury sent jets of fire shooting in all directions. Several reached their moving target and slashed through Brittany's clothes to leave deep cuts across her back, shoulders, and legs. Still, they ran, knocking portraits askew and sending vases crashing to the floor in their wake. At last, Santana could see the entrance hall and the way out. She picked up the pace and tightened her hold on the other girl's hand as she pulled her along.

Once outside, there was no time to think, no time to plan. Santana grabbed Brittany's broom from the grass, straddled it, and tugged its injured owner onto her lap. Cradling the bloodied blonde to her chest, she kicked off the ground without looking back. Her father's echoing shouts told her that he had followed but found that he was too late to stop them.

She couldn't possibly go to the Pierces' house - not with their daughter looking like this - so she flew to the nearby woods and touched down under the shade of the towering trees. Already, she could feel the flow of liquid soaking into her own clothing and the other teen's disoriented moaning sent shivers down her spine.

Her adrenaline was pounding through her veins. She carried Brittany to the softest patch of ground she could see without her legs buckling even once. Tears streamed down her face as she took in the severity of the damage. One side of the girl's face was covered in blood and her shirt and pants were tattered in places. Carefully, she rolled the blonde onto her side and, when she saw the sickening lashes in her flesh, Santana tasted bile. With shaking hands, she pulled her wand out of her back pocket and aimed it at the worst of the wounds.

"_Vulnera Sanentur_," she choked out through her sobs. It took several repetitions but the bleeding finally stopped and the injuries healed.

Hiccupping and shuddering, Santana hoisted the limp girl up to lean against her shoulder. She stroked her hair and rested their heads together as she wept uncontrollably. The other teen's hand slid up to the collar of her shirt and clutched it tightly.

"I'm so proud of you," Brittany whispered. She shifted to look her in the eye while wincing at the pain that even such a small movement caused.

"Why? I nearly got you killed. This was the biggest mistake of my entire life."

The blonde shook her head.

"Hiding who you are would have been a mistake. What you did was right, Santana, and you didn't let them tell you otherwise. You were so brave."

Santana laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, I was such a goddamned hero that I put the person that matters most to me directly in the line of fire. If I had any real balls, I would have taken on that situation on my own. Now, instead of me - the one that actually pissed them off - being the one that took the hits, you've been hurt so badly you can't move and I barely got a scratch. I can't believe I let myself get you into this. I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve it. I should have known better."

"You didn't 'get me into' anything," Brittany insisted through gritted teeth, still struggling against intermittent stabs of pain. "I've known your parents for half a decade. I was aware of what would happen and how they would react. I didn't care. This was the hardest thing you were ever going to have to do and I was going to be there for you. It was my decision."

The brunette's throat tightened. She bit her lip as she met the other girl's gaze.

"So I guess this is it, huh?" she asked finally. "We made it to the finish. Now there's just you and me."

Brittany's eyelids fluttered and she nodded weakly.

"Any regrets?" she asked feebly as she traced her fingers around the girl's trembling mouth.

Santana grabbed her hand and kissed the center of her palm.

"None."

With the last of her waning strength, Brittany tugged herself upright to press a deep kiss to Santana's lips. The smaller teen responded in kind and allowed the last of her fear to ebb away as she felt her soul mate's mouth smile against her own.

The other girl had spoken the truth. No matter what else happened, Santana knew she was right. Forget the whispers at school; forget her parents; forget the house where she grew up and all the things she'd left behind - this was home.

At last, the exhaustion from her ordeal overtook the young woman in her arms. Brittany slipped into unconsciousness in Santana's embrace. The brunette looked down at her for a moment, just taking her in, and then carefully readjusted so that they could both lie down together.

She knew there'd be a lot of explaining to do when she took the girl back to her family, but at that point the speech she'd have to prepare could wait. For now, she and Brittany would just sleep, harbored for the moment in the quiet serenity of their own little world.

...

Santana awoke with a jolt. The woman's chest ached with the pain of her recalled emotions and the traces of moisture along her cheeks told her that she had been crying in her sleep. Her right hand tightened, expecting to feel the press of the stone against her palm. When she realized that it had dropped to the floor, she scrambled to retrieve the enchanted object.

Just having that treasure in her hands brought an immediate comfort but she knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she put it to its intended use. Three turns and she wasn't alone. Three simple turns and her world was whole again.

"I thought you were going to sleep," Brittany said. "What happened?"

"I needed someone to talk to," Santana sniffled.

Her wife nodded understandingly, although her eyes still searched the other woman's face for the origin of her sudden distress.

"What did we do to deserve this?" the brunette demanded suddenly.

"Deserve what?"

"This!" the dark haired woman exclaimed, moving her hand through the air in the space between them. "Was everything else not enough? All those muttered comments... my family... those assholes from the Quidditch team that wrote things on your locker... the pricks from Slytherin that tried to beat us up... the at-arm's-length treatment we got from everyone once we graduated? We went through absolute hell to be together and then... then this."

"Then I died," Brittany finished for her softly.

Santana's nose began to run and her tearducts burned with every drop that they released. She nodded at her spouse's words, still unable to speak them herself.

"Why did you have to go cover that youth uprising?" she asked bitterly. "I know we were too little to remember the elder generation of Death Eaters, but still. For God's sake, Brittany, you had to have known their offspring would be just as dangerous!"

"My job was always hazardous," the blonde reminded her. "You follow where the story leads. That's how it works. Still, if I'd thought for a second that it would take me away from you..."

She tried to take the brunette in her arms but Santana pulled away, unwilling to be held.

"It's not fair," she wailed while wiping her face angrily with the back of her hand. "It's not even remotely fair, and I will never understand the point of everything we went through if this was the way it was always going to end."

"You're looking at the wrong part of the story," the other woman told her.

They grasped each other's hands and sat cross-legged to face one another more directly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, even in fairytales, you know they won't live forever. That's not what 'ever after' means. It's not an eternity; it's just until the end of their days. And that's okay. The whole point, the part we really care about, is that all the time they had together after they beat the bad guys was full of happiness. Even though we didn't get as long as we wanted, you and I did have that, didn't we?"

Santana nodded tearfully.

"Yeah, we did."

"So, to me, we were a lot luckier than most people get the chance to be."

"There isn't anything you wish you could change? Something you would have wanted to be different?"

Brittany tightened her lips as she thought carefully.

"Only one," she replied at last while she brought her spouse's hands together so she could enfold them in her own. Her voice came out in a fragile whisper. "I really wish we could have had a baby."

Both their eyes welled up with emotion and the brunette nodded her agreement. That would always be one of their most devastating mutual memories. They had tried everything. She still remembered entering the muggle hospital. The bustle of ordinary people and the whirring of those perplexing machines had terrified her, but she endured it in silence for love of Brittany. Her wife had wanted to be a mother more than anything, and she was willing to face whatever they had to in order to make that happen. Unfortunately, all of their combined bravery was not enough to change their situation. It simply wasn't in the cards. None of the inseminations took and they were never notified of any children available for adoption.

"It's okay," Brittany assured her, pulling Santana back to their current conversation.

She wiped the brunette's tears away with her thumbs and ignored the continuous fall of her own. Ever the one to provide comfort, even when she was the one more in need of it at the time.

"You should probably try again to get some sleep," the blonde said with a watery smile. "You have work tomorrow."

Santana groaned.

"Just what I need," she grumbled. "More people trying to make me feel better by bringing up the one thing I couldn't possibly be further from wanting to discuss with them."

"They just want you to know they care. It's not meant to hurt you."

"Well, it does anyway, whether it's meant to or not."

"Just try not to let it bother you. There are a lot of people in trouble waiting for you to help get them out of it. They need you on form."

She brushed the shoulders of Santana's shirt with her fingertips, the way she used to smooth the other woman's suit before she stepped out the door each morning. The brunette smiled at the familiar gesture and reluctantly allowed the blonde to plant an affectionate kiss on her worried brow.

Her spouse eased her back onto the bed and pulled the covers up over them. She ran her fingernails through her wife's thick, dark hair and murmured soothingly to her. Though she wanted desperately to stay awake, to release her troubled thoughts into the air, Santana found herself drifting off once more to the sound of Brittany's voice.

"It'll be all right. You'll see. Everything always looks better in the morning."


	4. Stay with Me

There was something maddening about a room with no windows. Santana had never really minded it before, but it struck her now that this office was unbearably stuffy. There was scarcely any room to move and everything was damp and musty. It was like being trapped in a coffin.

Shuddering at this mental comparison, she tried to focus her attention instead on the massive stack of folders on her desk. The piles had grown taller than the woman herself in her absence and she was constantly fearful of inadvertently toppling them to the ground. That morning she had started sifting through the nearest one and sorting it into three smaller categories. She was now surrounded by Yeses, No's, and Maybes up to her elbows. Santana groaned inwardly. This was going to be impossible.

Granted, she could think of plenty of other hopefuls on the council that would be all-too-happy to accept her cast-offs. However, she didn't want to give them the satisfaction. She would preside over as many promising cases as she could squeeze into her schedule and leave the good-luck-talking-your-way-out-of-that-one criminals for some other poor schmuck to handle.

The daunting, tedious work of organization made it impossible for her to leave at the usual time, so she cleared herself a small space and ate her dinner there in the office. She was so immersed in the details of the papers she was reading that the woman scarcely noticed the flavors of what she was consuming. When she was in the zone, Santana did not eat for pleasure; sustenance was merely fuel. The brunette polished off her sandwich and wiped her fingers on her pants, briefly checking them for residue before snatching the next folder off the top of the stack.

The name she read when she flipped it open nearly made her choke. She couldn't believe this. After she expressly told them to see to it that none of those bastards' names ever reached her eyes, here this sat on her desk waiting for consideration. Her rage sent her pulse into double-time and her jaw clenched furiously. She rose to her feet and marched directly out the door with the file clutched angrily in her white-knuckled hand.

"What the fuck is this?" she demanded as she slammed the papers down on her legal secretary's desk.

The young woman blanched and mouthed wordlessly, uncertain of what she had done wrong. She stood awkwardly with one arm in her coat and one out, having obviously been almost ready to leave for the evening.

"_Satordi Dolohov_?" Santana hissed through clenched teeth. "You are aware that he was one of the leaders of the riot earlier this year?"

"Y-y-yes, Your Honour. I recall reading about it in the paper."

"So you might also remember that several people died during that uprising. Namely, though not excluded to, _my wife_."

"I am so sorry," her secretary whispered sincerely. "I have no idea how that found its way onto your desk. Everyone was told to be on the lookout for any of those names and to send them on their way if they turned up. It was an oversight, surely."

"Damn straight, it was an oversight. Look, I don't care how it happened; I just want it gone. I'd tell you to burn the blasted thing, but I'm sure there's some soulless cretin that will be willing to sit there while that fleabag tries to defend his name. Just _fix it_. I'm calling it a night."

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, not even bothering to go back into her office to grab her briefcase. Screw it. She'd spent enough hours staring at those case files since the day began; she sure as hell wasn't taking any of it home with her.

As she left the Ministry, the chill evening air hit her directly in the face and took her breath away. In spite of herself, now that her initial fury was beginning to subside, she found her eyes burning with the resentment of how ghosts from that day had found yet another way to haunt her. She slowed her pace until she came to a halt. Then the brunette stood still on the sidewalk for a moment, thinking. Abruptly, she began walking once more, but back in the direction from whence she came. There was a nice little pub sitting just up the street. Her empty house would still be waiting for her in a few hours. Right now, Santana needed a drink.

_... ... ..._

Three times over, she had looked down the bridge of her nose to find that she could see her fingers through the bottom of the empty glass. Just as many times, the dark haired woman had barked a command at the bartender and found her drink happily refilled. She allowed its pleasant warmth to slide easily down her throat as it dulled her senses and silenced the voices in her head.

Someone settled onto the stool beside her. Santana ignored the newcomer and continued to down the fortifying liquid while hoping to evade being engaged in conversation.

No such luck.

"Santana?" a voice asked tentatively. "Santana Lopez?"

Her eyes flicked in the direction of the person addressing her. When she successfully identified the individual, it did nothing to improve her mood.

"Oh, crap."

"Wow, it's been a while," Rachel Berry remarked as the bartender set a beverage down in front of her. "I can't remember the last time you and I talked. I suppose the most recent time we even saw each other must have been -"

"-At the funeral," Santana finished with a curled lip. Then she returned her attention to her glass.

"The song you sang was beautiful, and Quinn's speech was very eloquent," the smaller brunette said politely before taking a small sip of her own drink. "It was a lovely service."

"I'm so glad it met with your approval."

"So many people came to pay their last respects. It was touching to see all the lives she affected," Rachel continued, either unaware of or simply choosing to ignore Santana's sarcasm. "How have you been since then?"

"Well, I'm nursing my fourth drink in the past hour and you're the only company I've had while doing so, so how do you think I'm doing?"

The other woman's lip protruded slightly. She took another drink from her glass to avoid having to respond. Santana could almost see Brittany's disapproval in her mind's eye and her stomach squirmed with guilt.

"I'm sorry," she managed to force past her lips. "That was really bitchy. You're just trying to be nice."

"That's okay," Rachel said sympathetically. "This can't be an easy time for you."

"No, it isn't," the widow confessed.

"Did you get those flowers I sent?"

"Yeah, thanks. They were great. Daisies were her favorite."

"I know," Rachel replied. "I really struggled in my Herbology classes when we were in school but Brittany was always there to help me. She had quite the green thumb. She could grow just about anything but she seemed partial to taking pots of daisies with her back into the castle."

Santana smiled softly while she remembered.

"She started a little garden in one of the corners on the roof," she explained. "It was an out-of-the-way place that nobody ever really had cause to visit, so no one touched those flowers but her. Well, except for me, on the few occasions when she asked me to help her transfer something new."

A flood of recollections tied to that beautiful bed of plantlife burst forth in Santana's mind. She thought about the way their fingers used to overlap in the soil, with her friend's gentle hands guiding her as she patted the soft earth into place. She remembered the time that Brittany had actually allowed her to pluck a few carefully selected flowers from the lot and weave them into her golden hair. It made her look like the subject of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. How could she forget the countless nights they had snuck out of their dormitories, hearts hammering at the possibility of being caught out of bed, just so they could meet in that enchanted place and look at the stars? Then, of course, there was that time in their fifth year when... She couldn't even allow herself to finish the thought.

The pub became blurry in Santana's vision. She ducked her head to hide her emotions from the woman sitting by her side. Her face grow hot with shame at how suddenly the tears spilled down the sides of her face but she couldn't control them. Then her throat began to burn and she whimpered as the familiar agony returned to that vacant space inside her chest.

Rachel didn't say anything when her former classmate's shoulders began to shake. She simply reached out and clasped the woman's hand in hers. Somewhat surprisingly, Santana did not fight the contact. Instead, she squeezed her companion's fingers gratefully, unable to voice her thanks.

However, after a few minutes, it became almost unbearably painful that the skin against hers was not connected to the one she wanted. Santana swiped at her nose with the heel of her hand and finally composed herself enough to rise to her feet. She slowly removed her fingers from Rachel's grasp and tried to put on the strongest façade she could muster.

"I have to go," she told her. "Thanks for talking to me. I'll see you around."

"Wait," Rachel urged. "Are you sure you don't want someone to take you home?"

"No, really, I'm fine," Santana protested. "The walk will do me good. It'll help me clear my head."

Her companion seemed doubtful that traveling alone in such a state was particularly advisable. Out of respect for the other woman's wishes, though, she merely nodded her head and raised her hand in farewell. The taller brunette waved back and turned toward the exit. She swung the door open wide and, with a last glance and reassuring smile over her shoulder, disappeared into the night.

_... ... ..._

Much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Rachel had been right. Walking home that heavily inebriated had been a dreadful idea. Already, she had nearly twisted an ankle several times as her heels caught on cracks in the sidewalk. Her steps kept veering dangerously close to either the street on her left or the ditch along her right. She considered simply apparating to her destination, but the fear of inadvertently splinching herself put a stop to that notion pretty quickly.

After what seemed like an eternity of stumbling, fumbling, curse-laden hell, Santana's house at last came into view. She plunked down on the front stoop and yanked the accursed shoes off her feet, refusing to take another step in them. With one wince-inducing shuffle after another, she made her way into the house and back to her bedroom.

The prospect of changing was far too exhausting to even consider, so she flopped directly onto the sheets in her work clothes. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her weary limbs gradually went slack.

But sleep would not come.

The bed felt inexplicably cold - frigid, even - and the hairs on her arms stood on end as an involuntary shiver ran down her frame. She pushed herself up, reached for her covers, and tugged them up to her chin. Still, she could not get warm. Her tired eyes kept wandering to the empty place on the other side of the mattress. One hand crept carefully out of her cocoon just long enough to pull the nearest unused pillow closer to her. She pressed the slip cover to her face and breathed deeply. Yes, it was still there: the smell of wildflowers.

The sobs she had scarcely managed to fight back in the pub that night finally took hold. Her convulsing body curled into the fetal position and jerked oddly as she tried to choke back the sounds that were tearing up from the depths of her soul. Her fists clutched the sweet-scented pillow to her chest, but it was paltry in comparison to the familiar form that her quivering arms sought in vain.

_It doesn't have to be this way_, she found herself thinking. An idea slowly took root in her mind. On wobbly knees, she climbed out of bed and walked toward the sewing kit that sat atop her dresser. Santana pushed aside the needles, spools, and pins until she found what she needed: a wound-up length of leather cord. With that obtained, she went to her nightstand and tugged open the uppermost drawer. There, inconspicuously nestled among pill bottles, magazines, her glasses, and other clutter was the small pouch that currently housed the Resurrection Stone.

Santana overturned the cloth and allowed the object to fall onto her palm. The starlight coming through her window gave it an eerie sheen. Not wanting to waste another moment, she carefully set to work weaving the cord securely around the rock. When it was successfully enclosed, she cut the cord in two and used the remainder to fashion a necklace to which she could attach the treasure. As she slid the circle over her head and the stone's cool touch settled onto her collarbone, she knew that at last it was time. With two fingers, she turned the Hallow over three times and held her breath.

She was there. Calm, quiet, and with a concerned expression on her face, Brittany stood before her once again. The woman's feet carried her swiftly to Santana's side as she immediately gave her a bracing hug.

"What's wrong?" she asked, having required only a mere fraction of a second to detect her wife's agitation.

"I can't sleep," Santana replied with a laugh at how childlike her complaint sounded when spoken aloud.

"Do you want me to lay down with you again?"

The brunette nodded as her lip trembled. Brittany pulled aside the covers and allowed Santana to settle down comfortably before tucking her in. Then her eyes fell on her spouse's shoulders and noted the day's outfit that she still wore.

"You didn't even get dressed for bed," she said, clicking her tongue.

Without another word, she strode over to their wardrobe and pulled out a lightweight nightgown. Then the blonde returned and perched on the edge of the mattress. She rolled the covers back down off the dark haired woman's body and slapped her knee encouragingly.

"Here, come on, sit up. We've got to get you changed."

Santana did as she was told. Brittany tugged her pants down her hips, and the brunette pushed off the bed enough to allow them to be slid past her legs. Once they were tossed aside, she pulled off her own jacket and added it to the pile. Next came the white shirt beneath, which they both worked to unbutton and discard along with the rest. Then the dark haired woman lifted her arms and the her spouse lowered the gown into place.

Their faces were only a few inches apart as the blonde smoothed out the fabric. Santana decided on impulse to close the gap. She leaned forward and caught Brittany's lips with her own, surprising the other woman slightly. Her wife's gaze lifted to meet hers and tried to discern what was going through her thoughts. When she saw the warmth and longing in the look that the brunette was leveling on her, it was not difficult for her to guess.

The taller woman drew closer again and returned the kiss with her own, but she broke it off before it could become anything more. With one hand held out to silence any protestations from her wife, Brittany circled around the bed and climbed in on the other side. She wrapped Santana in her arms, with the brunette's back to her front, and rested their temples together. Momentarily, the blonde allowed herself to savor the simplicity of resting cheek-to-cheek.

"So, are you going to talk to me about what happened?" Brittany murmured into Santana's ear.

"The first part of the day was fine. I honestly thought everything was going to be okay, but then this file showed up on my desk," she said, pausing to take a deep breath before she continued. "It was one of _them_. Not the one that took you away from me, but still I couldn't handle it. The next thing I know, I'm four drinks in at the pub and having a heart-to-heart with Rachel bloody Berry, of all people."

"That is unexpected," the blonde said. "What did you talk about?"

"You."

"Oh," the other woman murmured quietly. "Did it help? Talking to someone about it, I mean?"

"No," she replied while a few tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes. "It just made me miss you that much more, so I came back here."

"Well, I'm with you now," Brittany said as she snuggled closer. "I'll keep you company until you go to sleep."

Santana shook her head.

"I can't sleep."

"Sure you can. I'll be right here," the blonde reassured her. "Just give it time."

The brunette turned onto her other side to face her wife. She pressed their foreheads together and closed her eyes.

"I just need you to be with me."

"I will; I promise," her spouse insisted. "I won't budge an inch until you drift off."

Again, Santana moved her head from side to side.

"I don't want you to disappear again," she whispered. "Please, just stay with me."

Brittany nodded, still not quite understanding. Then her eyes travelled down to the necklace Santana was wearing. The Resurrection Stone was still in contact with her skin; however, she no longer had to keep hold of it with her hands. Comprehension dawned on the blonde's face but, before she could say anything, the other woman dragged her open mouth along the side of her neck.

"Santana," she said weakly. "I'm really not sure if this is the best-"

The dark haired woman cut her off with a kiss.

"- Idea," she finished, but it was too late to express any concerns.

The brunette yanked her nightgown back over her head and tossed it in the general direction of her pile of clothes. Without sparing a second, she slid off her underwear and unhitched her bra to drop them over the edge of the bed as well. Brittany still looked terribly troubled. Regardless, she was hard-pressed to actually give voice to those thoughts when her resplendently bare bride was crawling toward her across the sheets.

The blonde reluctantly acquiesced as the dark haired woman reached for the buttons on her shirt and pushed them through the holes one by one. She slid the cloth back from Brittany's shoulders, pressing their torsos together as she did so. Her wife enveloped Santana in her arms and embraced her so lovingly that she almost wanted to stop, just to cherish that moment of being held. However, something inside drove her on. She moved back to her side of the mattress and allowed the other woman space to remove her pants. Her spouse's undergarments followed shortly thereafter, and the brunette nearly wept at the perfection she had once thought was lost to her forever.

Brittany leaned back against the pillows and watched her with wide eyes full of vulnerability. Santana grabbed one of her wife's knees in each hand and slowly eased her thighs apart. She was just starting to lower herself when the press of fingers against her shoulders made her pause. Looking up, she saw that the blonde was shaking her head. Her brow furrowed, but then the other woman gently pushed her back against the bed.

The brunette made room between her own legs for her spouse to get situated. To her surprise and slight disappointment, Brittany did not begin straight away. Instead, she climbed a little farther up the bed so that she could lie down directly on top of the other woman's body. She gripped the sides of Santana's face and kissed her passionately while trying to press every possible inch of their flesh together, as if they could somehow fuse into one being.

One palm left the dark haired woman's cheek as that arm strayed between the two of them, and she felt the blonde's hand slip carefully backward toward its target. The abrupt, icy shock of Brittany's slender fingers inside of her made Santana gasp. Her eyes widened and her back arched. The contact made her shiver unexpectedly, but she dug her nails into the other woman's back to bring her closer. She leaned her head against her wife's shoulder as they established a steady rhythm, and a series of hissed curses and inhuman moans tumbled past her parted lips.

Brittany shifted her hip to rest against her working hand and ground down against it to push herself even farther. A few moments later, Santana's ragged cry echoed through the silent house and resounded off the walls. Her limbs tensed and then went limp as she shook uncontrollably. One trembling hand reached up to grasp the back of the blonde's neck. She pulled the other woman down to rest against her chest while she waited to recover from the aftershocks.

After a few minutes in which the brunette struggled to regulate her breathing, Brittany sat up to begin again. Santana pushed herself upright as well and stilled her wife's movement with one palm pressed flat over the other woman's heart. It struck her for just a moment how strange it was not to feel the familiar thumping beneath the skin. However, before her thoughts were able to remind her why it was absent, she flipped the blonde over onto her back.

She swung her right leg over the other woman's left thigh. As she shifted to readjust herself, her wife's fingers reached out to intertwine with hers. They clasped each other's hands almost painfully. Santana used that hold to keep herself steady as she ground down and Brittany's hips bucked up to bring them together. The brunette's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and the sound of her own uneven panting filled her ears. The moon's touch fell softly on her fair features, cool and feather-light. Close as she was to surrendering, she had enough clarity to realize that something was wrong.

Brittany's presence was missing from this moment. She was still there, holding onto Santana's hands, but her spouse's body was not radiating any heat. Nor was the blonde making any of the usual sounds that indicated her mutual pleasure. The dark haired woman at last lowered her gaze and locked it on her silent lover. She nearly asked what was wrong, but the look on her wife's face stilled the words on her tongue. There was so much love there, a self-sacrificing devotion that could never truly be put into words. The expression caught the brunette off-guard and she found herself starting to cry. She threw herself into their contact with all that she had, fighting both for the finish and to prevent herself from losing all control.

The whiteout oblivion came shortly thereafter. Santana rode it out on quaking legs, scarcely able to keep from toppling over. Exhausted, she dropped down into Brittany's outstretched arms. Her body was glistening with sweat. She forced one arm under the blonde's back and wriggled until it emerged on the woman's other side. Then she locked her hands together at her wife's hip.

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

She craned her neck to kiss the blonde's jaw. Brittany tucked her chin against her chest to look at Santana. She pressed her lips to her spouse's full mouth and smiled contentedly. Her hand rubbed the space between the dark haired woman's shoulder blades. Then they rested together for a time, neither wanting to be the first to break the flawless silence.

The brunette's eyes roamed around the room and settled on her wife's rumpled clothes on the floor. Without really meaning to, she found herself reflecting on the last time she had seen Brittany wearing them - that last morning before she died.

...

"Rise and shine, honey," she had purred into Santana's ear at some ungodly pre-dawn hour. "I want to make sure you're up and about before I go."

"Mmpf," came the muffled response from the pillow in which the other woman was burying her head.

"Come on," she urged. "I can't risk leaving you to sleep the day away."

The blonde's arm draped over Santana's side and the tips of her fingers trailed around the brunette's navel. Her wife rolled over to squint up at her but still showed no signs of budging. With a playful smirk, Brittany slid one hand up and over her spouse's hip to squeeze her rump with an open palm.

"Keep that up, and I'm never leaving this bed again," Santana told her huskily.

They kissed, and the dark haired woman gently tried to part the blonde's lips with the tip of her tongue. Brittany groaned and pulled away.

"Seriously, I have to go," she said as she crawled toward the foot of the mattress.

Santana chased her, throwing her arms around her wife's shoulders and locking her into place with a bent leg on either side of her ribcage. Her fingers undid the top buttons of the blonde's cornflower blue blouse. She plunged her hand through the gap in the fabric and under the black bra beneath, enjoying the way she felt Brittany's pulse quicken at her touch. For a moment, the other woman allowed herself to remain motionless. She turned her head and caught her spouse's lower lip between her teeth, biting it teasingly before granting her one last deep kiss.

Then she disentangled herself from Santana's embrace and readjusted her appearance as she stood. The brunette sulked and looked up at her through her dark lashes. She trailed her bare foot up Brittany's gray slacks and toyed with the zipper with her toes.

"Ever consider taking a mutual sick day?"

"Yes," the blonde admitted as she flicked her eyes over her wife's too-tempting body. "But not today. They must really need me if they called me in this early."

"All right," Santana conceded with a pout. "But you'd better be ready to make it up to me when we both get home."

"It's a deal," her spouse agreed with a wink as she pulled on her coat. "You sure you're awake?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she assured her. "Good luck today, with whatever it is they have you doing."

"Thanks," the other woman said. She smiled and gave the brunette a quick peck on the cheek while she fixed her collar. "You, too."

"I love you," Santana said as the blonde backed toward the door.

"I love you, too," Brittany replied.

With a waggle of her fingers and a blown kiss across the room, she stepped through the doorway and left the house. The brunette listened to the sound of the front door closing. Then she wrapped her arms around herself and tucked her knees against her chest as she tried to ward off the chill of the early morning.

...

"Hey," Brittany said softly, catching Santana's attention as she blinked the memory away.

The blonde's forefinger pressed to the dark haired woman's mouth and gently brought the lower half back into view. Santana frowned slightly; she had been sucking on her lip again.

"You okay?" her wife asked as she searched her face worriedly.

"If I'd known then that it was the last day of your life, I would have forced you to stay."

"If I had known then that it was the last time I'd be with you alive, I would have let you," Brittany replied.

The brunette pulled her arm free so that she could bring both hands up to grab the sides of the other woman's face. She kissed her wife so hard it left her lips swollen, ignoring the salty taste of her own tears as they dampened both their faces. A heartbreaking whimper escaped her, and the blonde hugged Santana to her chest as she gave herself over to the sadness.

The dark haired woman sniffled and pressed her mouth along each inch of her wife's collarbone as she caressed her tenderly. Brittany rested her chin on Santana's hair and hummed a soothing melody. In time, the sobbing widow's movement stilled and she gradually relaxed in the blonde's comforting arms.

When her shallow breathing confirmed that she was in fact asleep, the other woman carefully released her hold. She pried herself free and strode across the room to gather her clothes and pull them back onto her body. After she had dressed, she climbed back onto the bed and looked down at Santana.

Her blue eyes filled with all the overwhelming pain and regret that she had hidden while her wife was awake. She leaned down and pressed a fleeting kiss to the brunette's forehead. Carefully, Brittany took the cord around her spouse's neck between her fingers and eased it up over her head.

With a final tug, she pulled the necklace free. Then she let the Resurrection Stone fall onto her side of the bed and was gone.


	5. Ghost of a Girl

Something was very wrong with Santana Lopez. That was the general consensus circulating around the Ministry but no one was sure how to handle the situation or, truthfully, what exactly it was they felt was amiss. Still, they did know that she was most certainly not herself.

For a start, she seemed to be handling her grief with far more quiet grace than anyone had anticipated. In fact, if anything, she was almost... _pleasant_... with most of the people with whom she interacted on a daily basis. She had stopped snarling at other members of the council. Also, she no longer kept long, irregular hours in which she holed away in her office and did not wish to be disturbed. Rather, she came in bright and early every morning and left in time for dinner, just like everyone else in her department. Her status as the fiercest and most scrupulous Chief Witch of the Wizengamot remained untarnished. However, she no longer indulged in any post-ruling self-glorification or bragging of any sort.

Yes, something was undeniably wrong.

Quinn had been watching her old rival and sometimes-friend from a distance for quite a while now and she was inclined to agree with this collective opinion. She knew without even the slightest doubt that Brittany's death had destroyed Santana's entire world, yet here the woman was walking out of work each day with a smile on her face. It bothered the blonde that she was unable to riddle out what could possibly have changed. So, finally, she decided that she would just have to dig into the matter further and find out.

"Hello, Santana," she greeted the brunette in the most offhand manner she could manage. They were waiting in line at the end of the day and filing slowly toward their respective fireplaces.

"Hello, Quinn," the dark haired woman returned slowly. Her brow furrowed as she stepped forward into the green flames.

A moment later, as they emerged from their adjacent bathroom stalls, the blonde was right there again at her side and seemed inclined to follow her home.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked.

"No, not really," Quinn replied with a rather forced-looking smile. "I just wanted to know how things have been with you."

"They've been great," Santana responded, still eyeing her warily out of the corner of her vision. "How are things in your department?"

"A bit tricky, actually," her companion admitted. "A couple of young wizards had a duel in the middle of the street in broad daylight at the end of last week. There were countless muggle witnesses, and the other Obliviators and I have been at wit's end trying to track them all down."

"Sounds like hard work," the widow said as they reached the sidewalk. "Well, good luck with that."

She tried to make her escape but could not seem to shake her human shadow.

"You appear to be holding up really well," Quinn remarked. "Even better than the last time we spoke."

"Well, time heals all wounds and all that," Santana said, aiming for flippant but ultimately ending up with a cross between elusive and annoyed.

"That's good. Keep thinking positively."

The shorter woman's lip curled and at last she had to bring this conversation to a stop.

"Look, 20 Questions, if you're going to keep screwing with me, you're gonna have to buy me dinner first."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what the hell do you want?" she snapped.

"Nothing," the other woman protested. "Just to talk."

"Bullshit."

"Honestly. I just want us to be friends."

"So, what, you wanna sit down over a cup of coffee or something and hash this out?" Santana demanded.

"Yes, actually. That would be lovely."

_Damn it._

"Fine," she agreed with a huff. "But we're drinking it at my place. The local shop's no good."

"That's perfectly all right by me," Quinn said brightly.

_Me and my big mouth..._

_... ... ..._

Once again, Santana found herself seated awkwardly opposite Quinn Fabray at the small table in her kitchen. Two cups of coffee steamed before them, but the brunette scarcely touched hers. She was far too preoccupied with trying to discern the other woman's angle. Try as she might, she couldn't figure her out. Her irritation increased and she drummed her fingers against the tabletop. As the time passed, her tongue curled around her teeth while she held back dozens of insults and biting remarks. The idle chitchat was wearing her nerves thinner by the minute.

Then, by some miracle - although she had never expected to view it as such - an owl flew through the open window. Santana crossed the room quickly and accepted the note in its beak. She slipped a few coins into the bag tied to its leg and sent the creature on its way, scanning the contents of the letter at the same time.

"Oh, damn," she swore in feigned vexation. "Urgent business from work. I'm going to have to answer this straight away. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this little tête-à-tête short."

"That's okay," Quinn told her with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You take care of what you need to do. I'll just wait here and finish my coffee."

_Seriously?_

"All right, if you're sure," she continued, smiling even though the effort made her face hurt. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll just be in my study, if you need me."

"Not a problem," the blonde assured her. "Take your time."

Santana stalked off in the direction of the room she had indicated. Nevermind that the letter had in fact been an overdue fine for a bill she hadn't paid. Either way, it had failed to serve its purpose in ridding her of her unwanted house guest. Oh well. At least with this quickly concocted excuse she could have a handful of minutes of peace and quiet on her own.

Quinn waited until the brunette was safely out of sight. She strained her ears for the sound of the door to the study clicking shut and then sprang into action. Somehow, some way, she needed to find the source of Santana's inexplicable contentment. Was she drinking to numb the pain? Did she have a stash of some sort of illegal substance? Had she obtained an extraordinary amount of Felix Felicis? A series of unlikely theories chased themselves in circles around her head, each more ludicrous than the last. However, a search of the woman's various cabinets and drawers surrendered no clues.

It was time to move into other parts of the house. With her heart pounding inside her chest, the blonde crept out into the front hall. She kept her eyes locked on the entrance to the study, but the knob did not turn. Its occupant remained out of sight. At last, she reached the bedroom. As quietly as she could, she turned the handle and slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Where to start?

The nightstand. She yanked open the top drawer and scanned it quickly. Not surprisingly, it was an unorganized mess. However, there was one cloth pouch that caught her attention. Carefully, she picked it up and loosened the ties before turning the bag over onto her open hand. A small black stone attached to a leather necklace tumbled onto her palm. Her brow knotted as she turned it over and struggled to get a better look through the cord that bound it in place. Then she spotted a few thin etchings along one side. As she mentally identified the symbol, her jaw dropped.

"Holy shit!"

Her mind was instantly reeling. The Resurrection Stone? How in blue blazes had Santana Lopez found this when everyone believed it to be forever lost? Moreover, how long had it been in her possession? Even as she asked herself that last question, Quinn suspected that she already knew the answer: since the dark haired woman's extended "vacation."

As the pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place, it occurred to her that the brunette might have finished the letter by now. Cautiously, she opened the bedroom door and stuck her head out into the hall. The study door was still shut and she didn't hear any noises coming from the kitchen. She still had time.

Closing the door once more, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, still stunned. She had so many questions. Still, the woman didn't see how she could possibly get the answers she sought without giving away the fact that she had been snooping.

_Unless..._

Her gaze lowered to the stone clutched in her hand. Much as she wanted to reject the idea, she found that it seemed like her only viable option. Better to try it out and take on whatever consequences might follow than to allow things to continue as they were.

She filled her lungs with air and closed her eyes while she to focus her thoughts. The tips of her fingers trembled as she rolled the precious object end-over-end in the center of her palm.

_One. Two. Three._

"Quinn?"

Her eyelids snapped open immediately. Sure enough, there on the opposite side of the room stood none other than Brittany Pierce. The other woman's heart skipped a beat and she stared in disbelief. Somehow, in spite of all the magic she had seen, there had always been a part of her that doubted a thing like this was possible. She felt a sudden surge of emotions upon seeing her old friend, and her vision blurred. Unbidden, her hair temporarily went from its usual blonde to a dark, somber blue.

"Brittany?" she whispered.

She rose to her feet and flew across the room. Then she hugged her companion so tightly that the other woman's eyes widened in surprise. Brittany returned the embrace with a warm smile.

"It's good to see you," Quinn said as she finally pulled away. "You look just like I remember."

"Well, I don't age anymore," she pointed out while shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you?"

Quinn reached out and grabbed the taller blonde's hand. While it was solid, it felt strangely like trying to hold onto someone under water: even if your skin was pressed directly against theirs, you'd still feel like you didn't have a proper hold on them.

"We need to talk about Santana," she said abruptly while still looking down at their hands.

"Why? What's going on?" Brittany asked in a tone filled with concern.

"It's not that something is wrong, exactly," Quinn began. "It's just that something isn't right."

"What do you mean?"

"She... I... Oh, I don't know. It's just so hard to explain."

She struggled desperately for the right words to articulate what was weighing on her thoughts. Suddenly, a foreign presence appeared in her mind and began aiding in the search. Quinn gasped.

"Britt!" she chided as her shoulders tensed. She had forgotten how skilled her companion was at Legilimency. "You don't have to do that. I'll tell you. I just needed a minute to think."

"Sorry," Brittany muttered apologetically. "Force of habit."

"It's okay," the other woman said, still shuddering from the contact. "All right, here goes. I'm just going to go for it. I don't think Santana is dealing with your loss very well. Or at all, for that matter."

Her friend lowered her eyes guiltily.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do," Brittany admitted. "She won't even talk about it anymore, like not saying it out loud will mean it didn't happen."

Quinn nodded.

"So, instead of living out her life without you, she decided to create an alternate universe for herself where you're still here."

"But I am here," Brittany protested in confusion.

"I know you are, Britt," Quinn said softly. "But not the way that she's pretending you are. Not as flesh and blood."

The taller blonde's lip protruded at this last statement, but she couldn't argue against the truth of it.

"This really isn't good for either of you," the other woman pointed out as gently as she could. "I mean, it's clear that, as long as she keeps you here, she can't move on. The thing is, though, neither can you. She's holding your spirit in limbo."

"But she needs me," Brittany whispered as several tears trickled down her face.

"I know she does," Quinn assured her. "But how has all of this been affecting you? Do you even feel like you still belong here?"

"With Santana? Of course. Always."

"No, sweetie. I mean _here_. This life. This world."

The other woman pursed her lips while she debated whether or not she should speak.

"No," she said finally. "I don't. The colors all look faded here. It gets worse every day, like it's turning into a black-and-white photograph."

"And you haven't told Santana this?"

Brittany shook her head. Again, there was tightness at the corners of her mouth as she struggled with how much she ought to discuss.

"There's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"I can't feel anything anymore," she confessed. Her voice cracked in a sob.

"You mean, like, emotionally?"

"No, I mean I can't _feel_ anything. When Santana and I are together, if she kisses me or touches me...," her voice trailed off and Quinn's heart nearly broke at the expression on her face. "I can't feel it. It's like when someone waves their hand in front of your face. You feel the air as it goes by, but you don't feel anything actually touch your skin."

The woman's tears were flowing freely by now. Her narrow shoulders shook violently. One fist pressed against her abdomen as she tried to fight back the rush of emotions she had been bottling up for so long. Quinn grabbed her hand again and pulled her friend in for a hug. She tried her best not to cry herself as she provided a shoulder for Brittany to lean on.

"You haven't told her that, either, have you?" she asked while rubbing the blonde's back.

She felt Brittany shake her head.

"I think you need to, hon," Quinn told her. "She deserves to know the truth."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," the blonde explained. "In The Tale of the Three Brothers, when the second brother realizes that the woman is unhappy and that she doesn't belong where he is -"

She couldn't bring herself to complete her sentence.

"-He kills himself to be with her instead," Quinn finished. "Oh, God..."

Brittany was right, of course. If Santana had to let her wife go, permanently this time, what other reasons would she have left to live? No reasons that she would consider enticing enough to stay, that was for certain.

"What can I do?" the other woman asked her pleadingly. "Tell me something I can do."

"I don't know," Quinn admitted regretfully. "But you can't keep going through this in silence. Maybe don't say anything for now, but you have to find a way to talk about all of this soon. For both your sakes."

Brittany nodded.

"I'd better be going," her companion said sadly. "Santana will be finished with that letter any minute now, and I don't want to know what she'd do to me if she found me in here with you."

She embraced the other woman one last time and squeezed her tightly.

"You were my best friend," she whispered through the few rogue droplets that escaped her tearducts. "Hell, you were my only real friend while we were growing up. I miss you so much. I just wanted to thank you... for everything."

"The pleasure was all mine," Brittany replied sweetly while swiping a few of her own tears away with her knuckles. "You helped me a lot, too, you know."

"Good luck with what you still have to do," Quinn said as she reluctantly released her. "I know, when the time comes, you'll think of the right words to say. You always do."

"Thanks."

Hesitantly, the other woman picked up the cloth pouch and opened it. With her free hand, she crooked her fingers to wave farewell to her companion.

"Bye," she whispered, sniffling.

"Goodbye, Quinn."

With that, the shorter blonde dropped the necklace back into the bag. Brittany vanished and she restored the sack to its proper place in the drawer. With the heels of her hands, she rubbed away the last traces of emotion from her face. Then she straightened her shoulders and left the room to return to the kitchen.

_... ... ..._

"Finished!" Santana exclaimed with mock relief as she came back into the room. "Are you through drinking your coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," Quinn said as she handed her the empty cup. "It was nice getting to catch up for a bit. I really should be going, though. Thanks for inviting me over."

"It's a pity you can't stay," the brunette lamented as she took the other woman's coat off the back of the chair and helped her put it on. "We'll have to do this again some time."

"Sure, that would be great," the blonde agreed while she buttoned up and slid on a pair of gloves.

She walked out of the kitchen and toward the front door. Santana followed immediately behind her, maintaining her gracious hostess smile the whole time.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow, then," Quinn said.

"Not if I see you first," Santana returned with a wink.

She held out her hand for the other woman to shake. Her companion looked down at it for a moment and then side-stepped around the brunette's outstretched arm to give her a hug. Santana's eyes bulged but she patted Quinn's shoulder as kindly as she could.

"Goodbye," the blonde said as she released her friend from the embrace.

Quinn twitched her hand in an awkward little wave. Then she darted out of the house and into the street, pulling the door closed behind her. Santana immediately leaned her back against the wall and threw her hands in the air.

"_Finally_!" she exclaimed. "Thank God!"

She made a beeline for the bedroom and strode quickly toward the top drawer of her nightstand. When she had her necklace securely in place, she turned it between her fingertips and waited.

As soon as Brittany appeared, Santana pressed their bodies together and locked her hands at the small of the blonde's back. The last traces of irritability faded from her expression and were replaced by complete warmth and tenderness.

"Sorry I'm a bit later than usual," she apologized. "I had some unexpected company for a while."

"Oh, really?" Brittany asked lightly. "Who?"

"Quinn Fabray again," the brunette replied. "I'd tell you more about it, but I'm honestly still not sure why she was so bent on coming over in the first place. It was a really weird visit. I swear I'm starting think there's something wrong with that woman's mind."

"Well, I'm sure she had her reasons," her wife murmured.

"Enough about that," Santana said with a shrug. "It doesn't really matter. She's gone now, so I can finally relax and just enjoy the rest of my day with you."

She braced herself against Brittany's arms and stood on tiptoe to kiss her nose. Then she took her by the hand and led her to the bed. The dark haired woman climbed in first and then held out her arms to reach for her spouse.

"C'mon," she urged when the blonde hesitated. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Brittany replied, shaking her head.

She lowered herself to her knees on the mattress and sank down to lean against Santana. The brunette traced the tip of her index finger around the other woman's face, staring directly into her eyes as she did so. Brittany saw something flicker in the depths of her wife's pupils. She wrapped her hand around the one currently trailing across her cheekbone and held it still.

"What are you thinking?" she asked her softly.

"I was just thinking about how lucky I was that you and I ended up in the same boat when we were eleven," the brunette replied. "If we hadn't, we might never have met. I know it was entirely possible that it could have played out that way, but I just can't imagine what it would have been like. I don't know what I would do without you in my life."

Brittany folded her arms around the back of her spouse's neck and pulled her close enough for their foreheads to touch. She leaned in even nearer and, as the blonde brought her lips to Santana's for a kiss, she whispered quietly:

"Neither do I."


	6. A Barely Breathing Story

Santana sat up with a start. The sheets clung uncomfortably to her damp limbs and her heart pounded in her eardrums. Her eyes roved around the darkened bedroom as her disoriented mind struggled to separate reality from dream. A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped and gasped at the contact.

"What is it?" Brittany whispered worriedly. "Bad dream?"

"I... I don't really remember," the brunette mumbled as she shrugged. "I just woke up terrified."

"That's been happening to you a lot lately," her wife remarked. "Is there something on your mind?"

Santana grabbed the other woman's arm and tugged her closer. She quietly drew comfort from the touch of her spouse's skin against hers.

"As long as I know you're here, I'm fine," she insisted.

"Do you think maybe that's why you wake up?" Brittany asked quietly. "The fear that I won't be here when you do?"

Her index finger slid down Santana's necklace to the stone nestled between her breasts. The dark haired woman gently grabbed her hand and removed it. Ever since she had awoken to an empty bed the morning after they made love, she was always reluctant to let her wife touch the Hallow.

"We can talk about it, you know," the blonde said earnestly. "If you want to."

"No," the other woman said firmly. "I don't want to. I don't need to. There's nothing to say."

Brittany frowned but kept her disagreement with this statement to herself. Santana saw the blonde's troubled expression and sucked on her bottom lip. She leaned in and kissed her spouse fleetingly, only to deepen that caress when she saw that the first time did not chase her doubt away.

Her wife's mouth opened slightly and the dark haired woman readily slipped her tongue forward to fill the gap. The other woman lightly dragged her nails along Santana's scalp. The brunette's eyes rolled back as her lids fluttered closed. She readjusted to free her left arm from beneath her body. With that hand, she cupped the back of Brittany's head and cradled it while the other palm explored every inch of the blonde that she could reach.

The taller woman stilled her spouse's roaming fingers. She shook her head slightly and scrunched her nose, indicating that she wanted to remain as they were. Santana sulked for a moment at being denied but, when Brittany tenderly held both sides of her face and kissed her harder, she found that she didn't mind.

The brunette broke free from her lover's mouth and moved instead to the other parts of her face. She pressed her lips softly to the blonde's forehead, her closed eyelids, the freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her chin. With the tips of her fingers, she carefully smoothed back any stray hairs that she saw and restored them to their proper place. Her heart began to swell inside her chest. Santana snuggled into the curve of Brittany's neck as she tried to maintain her composure.

"You're so perfect," she murmured and draped one arm over her wife's hip.

The blonde snorted dismissively.

"Hardly."

"You are," she insisted while pulling back a little to look her in the eye. "There's no use arguing because you won't convince me otherwise."

Brittany smiled bashfully, which somehow made her that much more achingly beautiful. The pain coursing through Santana's insides became almost unbearable at the sight of it. She lowered her head back down to rest against her wife's chest and closed her eyes. Though the blonde didn't see it, a single tear slid down her spouse's cheek.

After a few minutes of silence, the other woman tentatively spoke.

"Santana?"

No response.

"Hey," she tried again while giving the brunette's shoulder a little shake. Still no reaction.

She had fallen asleep.

Brittany sighed heavily. It was just as well. How would she have begun that conversation anyway? There was no easy way to tell the woman beside her, the one great love of her entire existence, that even as they were tangled in each other's limbs just now it was as if her arms were enveloping air.

She rested her head against Santana's hair. Her mouth pressed down into a thin, anxious line and her eyes clouded over as she fought against her inner storm. To fill the slowly passing hours, she hummed tunelessly and watched the sky outside shift from the tranquil shadow of night to the bloodred blaze of the oncoming dawn.

_... ... ..._

Early the following morning, Santana opened her eyelids blearily as pale light filtered into the house. She extracted herself from Brittany's embrace and climbed out from under the sheets, sucking air sharply through her teeth at the touch of the hardwood floor against her bare feet. Her arms hugged her torso to contain what body heat she could as she shuffled across the room.

Though her back was turned to the bed, Santana could feel a pair of blue eyes watching her as she went about her routine. The familiar twist of guilt knotted her gut as she remembered that her wife no longer possessed the ability to sleep, but she pushed it away. Brittany had yet to voice so much as a word of complaint about the situation, and the brunette was far too afraid of the outcome to be the one to breach the subject.

The dark haired woman padded into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Her lip curled at the sight of her own reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Good God!" she exclaimed as she leaned in for a closer examination. "I look like a raccoon."

With a dissatisfied frown, she ran the tips of her index fingers along the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her brow knotted as she continued to inspect her face and the lines in her skin deepened.

"Shit," she said simply, bemused. She was aging, and more than she ought to have been over such a short span of time. On the plus side, the scar along her cheek was healing nicely.

With a shrug, she left her mirrored image and turned on the water in the shower. As a steady stream sprayed from the nozzle, she tugged her nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor. For a few blissful minutes as the hot droplets warmed her skin and woke her up, Santana was free from her troubles. She massaged her stiff muscles and worked the tangles out of her rumpled hair, intentionally stalling until the room filled with steam and made her feel like she was dwelling inside a cloud.

A short while later, she walked out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped loosely around her body. Brittany was sitting upright with her chin resting on her knees. Her long arms hugged her thighs close to her chest. The blonde watched her wife dress for the day with an unreadable expression on her face. Her fingers tugged absentmindedly at a loose thread in the covers.

When Santana was finished, she held out her arms and turned in a slow circle for her spouse to look her over. The other woman nodded her approval and the brunette smiled. She walked over and hopped onto the mattress to hug Brittany tightly.

"I'd better be going," she sighed as she nuzzled her wife's neck. "Big trial today."

"Go get 'em," the blonde said with her most encouraging smile, slapping the other woman's backside as she got to her feet.

Santana crossed over to her nightstand and pulled out the cloth pouch. She opened it and grabbed her necklace with the other hand.

"I'll see you when I get home?"

"See you then," Brittany affirmed.

The brunette put the stone back in its hiding place and was careful not to look up as her wife vanished from sight. She ground her teeth together and marched directly toward the door without glancing back. Silently, Santana cursed herself for still feeling that familiar pang of leaving an empty room. Somehow, no matter how much time passed, facing the day alone never did get any easier.

_... ... ..._

A small bell rang overhead as Quinn Fabray stepped into the coffee shop. The man behind the counter beamed at her genially, and she nodded to him before searching for an empty table. She spotted a place in front of the large front window and carefully climbed onto one of the tall stools.

Her fingernails tapped lightly against the table top as she waited for someone to come take her order. Outside on the sidewalk, muggles and wizards alike went about their daily business. The blonde watched them with a faint smile. She found it oddly comforting how difficult it was to tell the inhabitants of one world apart from the other. In the end, they were not so very different.

She was so immersed in her own musings that it escaped her notice when the front bell rang a second time as another customer entered the shop. It was not until a voice spoke beside her that Quinn realized she was not alone and turned from the window.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Rachel Berry asked timidly.

"No, I was just stopping in for something to warm me up after the cold, rainy day we've had," she explained.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," she replied and gestured to the opposite stool.

Rachel climbed up onto the seat, holding onto the table's edge to maintain her balance. Once she was settled, her shoes dangled almost two feet from the ground. She appeared almost childlike as her heels tapped lightly against the wooden legs. Her dark brown eyes roamed around the shop while she searched her mind for something to say.

"So, we haven't spoken one-on-one like this in quite a long time," Quinn supplied helpfully. "Years, really, if you don't count the idle chitchat on those occasions that Brittany got us all together. How have you been?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected," the petite brunette sighed.

She paused as the waiter came over and asked them what they'd like to drink. They both placed their orders and the man walked away again.

"Just going to work and paying the bills, the same as anyone else," Rachel continued as he departed. "Nothing very interesting, really."

"I find that hard to believe," Quinn said. "You were always so driven when we were in school. I'm sure your career is a lot more glamorous than most of ours."

The other woman shook her head.

"I'm afraid not. My path to stardom got... diverted. It was just going to be temporary, in the beginning, but it turns out that detour was just a cleverly disguised permanent standstill."

"What happened?"

"Do you remember that boy that asked you to the Yule Ball when we were fourteen?" Rachel asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"I married him."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Quinn asked cheerfully. "What could that have to do with your dreams getting deferred?"

"We wanted different things from our life together," she answered with measured care while selecting her words slowly. "I wanted to leave this place and never look back, unencumbered by any ties or loose ends. All he ever wanted was to stay close to his family and have a few kids."

The waiter returned with their cups and placed the drinks down in front of them. Rachel sipped hers thoughtfully for a moment before continuing.

"So we compromised. Now, we live within walking distance of the house where he grew up and I get to sing five nights a week in a smoke-filled lounge up the road."

Her lids rimmed with tears, but she straightened her shoulders with determination and finished the tale.

"Not exactly the fast-paced, hot-and-happening lifestyle I had in mind but, hey, at least we still haven't had any children..."

A small sob escaped her before she was able to choke it back. Rachel pressed her fist against her mouth to suppress the sound. She closed her eyes as she willed herself to regain control.

Quinn shifted uneasily in her seat. She slid one hand across the table to touch Rachel's wrist comfortingly. It occurred to her then that this was the first time they had ever come into direct contact. The realization nearly made her withdraw, but she knew that the other woman needed her.

"Thank you," Rachel murmured. She extracted her hand and allowed the blonde to sit back once more.

"Hey, don't feel too bad," the other woman said with forced optimism. "Nobody's life ever works out quite the way they planned."

"Oh, I'm sure you fared better than I did in that department," the brunette insisted as she took another drink of her coffee.

"Well, my job at the Ministry pays well enough," the taller woman conceded. "But outside of that things are fairly abysmal. I know you didn't exactly find connubial bliss, but at least you managed to get married."

"You mean...?"

Quinn lifted her left hand with the back of it facing outward. She waggled her fingers, the third of which was decidedly devoid of ornamentation.

"Sad, isn't it?"

"It's unbelievable," Rachel replied. "You were the brightest and prettiest witch in our year."

"And the biggest basket case," the blonde added with a slightly bitter laugh. "Honestly, I marvel at the fact that half the men I dated even talked to me at all."

"I suppose we all have our disappointments, then," the other woman surmised. She looked out the window at the street beyond.

"Yeah, I guess we do," Quinn agreed as she took a long drink from the warm cup in her hand.

They lapsed into silence, lost in their individual thoughts.

"Have you spoken to Santana lately?" Rachel asked suddenly.

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"Did she seem a bit... strange to you? Almost like she was hiding something?"

The blonde stared at the woman across from her, uncertain of how much to reveal.

"Yes, she seemed very odd," she responded vaguely.

"Any idea what it could be?"

The temptation to finally talk to someone else, to be able to get an outside opinion, was nearly irresistible. However, a quick glance around reminded Quinn that they were still inside a fairly busy coffee shop.

"Yes," she allowed herself to admit. "But would you mind terribly if we continued this conversation somewhere a bit more private? It's complicated... _very_ complicated."

"Of course," Rachel agreed readily. She grabbed her cup and hopped off the stool. Quinn did likewise and followed the brunette out into the street after they paid for their drinks.

"So, where to?"

"Here, take my hand," the blonde told her.

The other woman did as she was told. Her companion led them around several corners to a deserted side street.

"Hang on tight," she warned and then abruptly disapparated.

A moment later, they arrived in a large, brightly lit room. Panes of glass all along one wall allowed an expansive view of the city that stretched out in all directions. Potted plants and various works of art decorated the shelves and windowsills. A queen-sized bed was pushed into the opposite corner, along with a nightstand weighed down by a stack of at least a dozen books.

"Where are we?" Rachel asked as she turned in a circle to take in their new surroundings.

"My flat."

Quinn strode over to her kitchenette and sat down at the small table there. She kicked the opposite chair out with her foot, indicating that the brunette should take a seat. Her companion joined her and reluctantly tore her eyes away from the pleasing decor to focus on whatever the other woman might have to divulge.

"All right," Rachel said, keeping her voice conspiratorially low. "Now that we're here, tell me. What's going on?"

The blonde folded her hands in front of herself and bit her lip as she teetered on the edge of indecision. Another chance like this might not come along any time soon, or at all, for that matter. If she was going to get any unbiased help whatsoever, this was where she would find it, unlikely as the partnership would have seemed at any other time.

Finally, she lifted her head and looked Rachel directly in the eye.

"Can you keep a secret?"

_... ... ..._

Santana closed her eyes and listened to the steady rain tapping against the windows. Brittany's head was on her stomach, and her fingers played idly with the blonde's unbound hair as they enjoyed the stillness.

The cold from outside gradually crept into the room and the brunette shivered slightly. Her wife noticed this and moved up to rest her head on the other woman's shoulder. She draped one long leg over both of Santana's and then wrapped an arm around her torso. Her spouse burrowed into the embrace, struggling to get warm.

"Do you remember the night of that really big storm in our fifth year?" Brittany asked as they readjusted their limbs to get comfortable.

"Mmm-hmm," Santana purred contentedly.

"I was so worried about my plants. I begged you to run out onto the roof with me to put a tarp over them," the blonde reminisced. "Only, by the time we got it set up, we were both completely soaked and it was raining too hard to see our way back."

"So we stayed."

...

She had thought she was so subtle, snuggling closer to Brittany under the pretense of suffering from a chill. All she really wanted was to be near her and to feel the other girl's breath breeze across her skin. The brunette simply didn't know how to ask, since that aspect of their relationship was something they had scarcely discussed since the Yule Ball the previous winter. Her friend turned to make some comment or other about the downpour, and Santana found that she couldn't even listen because she was too distracted with watching the movement of her companion's lips. Before she could stop herself, she pressed her own mouth to that focal point and all conversation ceased.

How such an ordinary, unremarkable day led into the moment that would change her life forever, she still could not explain. What she did know is that somehow they reached the same conclusion simultaneously and without so much as a word spoken aloud. She was peeling back Brittany's rain-soaked cloak before she even had time to process what was happening. The other girl did the same for her and then tugged her heavy jumper off the brunette's arms and over her head. As the blonde's fingers loosened the green-and-silver tie around her neck and then moved on to her blouse, Santana nearly balked. Her mouth was already open to issue a feeble protest when those startlingly clear eyes locked on hers. All thoughts of fleeing vanished and Santana began attacking the other girl's shirt with equal haste.

Within a minute, they were down to their undergarments. The brunette didn't think her heartbeat had ever been so loud. Even with the thunder rolling overhead and the occasional crackle of lightning, it was all she could hear. The sound pounded in her eardrums and sent out echoes of the beat through every limb and extremity. It was as if her entire body was pulsating, thrumming with unspeakable fear and excitement.

She grabbed the straps of Brittany's bra delicately between two fingers on either side and slowly pulled them out of the way. The blonde crooked her elbows to make it easier to tug them free. Santana gently pushed the other girl back to lie flat against their discarded clothes and hoped that at least they would be softer than the stone rooftop beneath. Her companion's chest was already heaving as she struggled to keep herself still.

The brunette grabbed the middle of the white cloth in one tight fist and yanked it free. The back fasten gave way and she flicked her wrist to dispose of the unwanted garment. Next she guided the teen's underwear out from under her rump and down her shapely legs. With that gone, Brittany was laid bare before her. Santana wanted to fall on her right then and there, but the blonde reached up and hooked one finger around the black lace still covering the other girl's private skin. The dark haired teen reached around her back and undid the latch, tossing the unclasped bra away as soon as she had slid it down her quivering arms. The corresponding bottoms followed shortly thereafter and she was left gloriously exposed.

Gooseflesh raised pinpricks along her limbs and torso but she scarcely had time to notice. After a fraction of a second in which they drank in the sight of one another, she and Brittany collided and curved into each other the way the sea meets the shore. The torrent of water from the sky began to come down sideways, but the two girls paid it no heed as rain mixed with sweat and their slick bodies moved as one. They reveled in the discovery of the new ways that they could come together, and for a time the outside world may as well have not even existed.

...

"I'm glad it was you," Brittany murmured, clearly having just resurfaced from the same memory.

"So am I."

The thing was, momentous as that exchange had been, it was not their mutual loss of virginity that gave the event such significance. For Santana, what had truly changed when they gave themselves to each other was that she forgot how to use the word _I_; from that day on, it was always _we_. Even when they were apart, she found herself responding for them both as a unit. Though she was still an individual, she was no longer her own. Yin to yang, light to shadow, they were each other's balance. She would forever view herself as half of a whole.

Brittany untangled herself from Santana and sat up. She took hold of her wife's shoulder and gently pulled her onto her side, so that the shorter woman's head was resting against her thighs. The brunette twisted around so she could look up at her spouse. The expression on the blonde's face was indescribably tender. She trailed her fingers along the age lines at the corners of the dark haired woman's lips and eyes. The pad of her thumb traced the now faint scar along her cheekbone. With a slight frown, she took in how tightly her wife's skin seemed to be drawn, as if she were under some constant strain. The dark circles under her eyelids had deepened in hue, making her look almost as if she were bruised. Santana closed her eyes as the taller woman leaned down and kissed both lids in turn.

"Do you know something?" Brittany whispered while their faces were still only inches apart.

"What?"

"As glad as I am that you were the one who shared all my firsts, I think I love it just as much - maybe more, even - that you were there for so many of my lasts: the last time I ever walked through the halls of Hogwarts, the last night I spent in my family's house before you and I moved into our own place," the woman listed as she looked off into the distance. "You were sitting across from me during the last dinner I ate. You were the one holding me the last time I climbed into bed for the night, and the one I was with the last time I... Well, you know."

Santana bit her lip and nodded, smiling. She found it precious that Brittany hesitated to say that last part out loud. However, a devastating thought came to her then, and she had to look away before her spouse had a chance to see the depth of pain in her eyes.

"Even so, I wasn't there for the most important one," she said quietly. "I wasn't with you at your last breath."

She sucked air sharply into her lungs and pushed down a sob, but her tearducts spilled over before she could do anything to control them. Her body started to shake, and she reached both arms out to wrap around Brittany's waist. Her wife smoothed her hair and shushed her consolingly.

"You were there," the blonde told the woman crying against her, fighting to speak as her own emotions took over. "Just not physically. Santana, when it happened, I stopped being aware of everything else. The crowd, the screaming, the boy with his wand drawn at me, the flash of light... I couldn't focus on any of it. The last thing that entered my thoughts before I was gone was _you_."

Rather than respond verbally to this revelation, Santana climbed into Brittany's lap and curled up against her. She rested her head against her wife's shoulder and sighed heavily. Still silent, she held out her right hand with the pinky extended. Her spouse took it with her own, and they simply sat together with their hands and thoughts interlinked.

Brittany nestled her chin atop Santana's hair and made herself an unspoken promise. If she accomplished nothing else with this extra time that she had been given, she would help the brunette find the one thing inside of herself that she needed even more than healing: forgiveness.

_... ... ..._

"Wow," Rachel said simply when Quinn had finished speaking.

"Yeah," the blonde agreed with a short laugh. The taller woman ran her fingers through her hair and released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was such a relief that now someone else knew.

"So, has she talked to her, do you think?"

"No, and that's exactly what has me worried," the former Ravenclaw replied. "I don't think she knows how. I mean, shit, who can blame her? That's a heck of a conversation to have when the person you love is just starting to get better."

The brunette nodded her agreement.

"The thing is," Quinn continued. "Santana isn't really getting better. She's hiding. Sure, she built up her life again but she rebuilt it with Brittany still at the center. I'm so scared what's going to happen to Britt if she keeps this up. I want what's best for both of them, and I want them happy, but I don't see how this can go on when they're not even a part of the same world anymore."

She folded her arms over her chest and crossed the room to look through the windowpanes.

"I can't stand the thought of Brittany having to live in a world where she can't use her senses," the blonde said as she gazed at the labyrinth of buildings lining the streets outside. "She'll have to spend every day wanting to share all the simple things with Santana - holding hands, eating meals, smelling flowers from the garden - and she can't. I know she'd give all of that up in snap just to stay with the love of her life but she shouldn't have to. No one deserves being forced to endure that kind of colorless, mundane existence. It'll destroy her spirit."

Rachel folded her hands in her lap. She thought about her old friend having to spend all of her time concealing the inevitable agony that would result from that scenario. Rising to her feet, she joined Quinn at the window.

"So what do we do?"

_... ... ..._

"What the _hell_?"

Santana opened her front door and curled her lip as she gave Quinn and Rachel a once-over.

"I'm getting used to _you_ being a regular customer," she said to the blonde before turning to the brunette at her side. "But what are you doing here?"

"Providing moral support," Rachel responded.

"May we come in?" Quinn asked before Santana could make any further remarks.

"Sure, why not? This ought to be interesting."

She turned and walked into the house. The two women followed and Quinn carefully shut the door behind her once she was inside. Their hostess led them to the living room, where she slid onto the rocking chair beside the fireplace. She gestured to the sofa and her companions took their seats.

"So, what do you want?" Santana demanded without preamble. "It must be pretty serious, if it brought the two of you together."

"It is," Rachel agreed while bobbing her head up and down. Quinn put a hand on the petite brunette's knee, hoping she could prevent her from plowing into the subject too quickly. Tact and subtlety had never been her strong suits. Thankfully, the other woman fell silent and the blonde was able to take over from there.

"It seems to me, to_ us_, that you've been undergoing some... changes lately," she began. "Changes that might not be the best for your health and well-being."

"What are you talking about?" the widow asked as her eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"Well, it's just that you don't really go out anymore," Quinn explained. "Not that you ever went anywhere with either of us. According to your colleagues, though, you used to occasionally accompany them to parties or to go out for a drink. Now, they claim they see neither hide nor hair of you if you're not in the office. Like you've just fallen off the map."

"And that concerns you because...?"

"Because I know why."

Santana folded her arms and rocked back on her heels.

"Oh, really? Listen, I don't know what kind of information you think you've obtained from dogging my every step, but you don't know a damned thing, Fabray."

"I know about the Resurrection Stone," Quinn blurted, fearful that she'd lose her nerve if she gave the other woman time to get any angrier.

Santana stared at her with her mouth agape. Her lips moved almost imperceptibly as she searched her mind for some sort of evasive response, but it was clear that she knew she was caught. Finally, she selected the only word that rose to the surface in her thoughts.

"How?"

"I talked to Brittany," the blonde confessed and lowered her eyes to stare at her shoes.

"When?"

"When I came over for coffee."

Santana started rocking slowly. Her eyes roved the room as she struggled to process this information.

"I can't fucking believe this," she murmured. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair and her nostrils flared repeatedly.

Quinn and Rachel exchanged worried glances.

"What did you say to her?" Santana asked.

"Nothing, really. We just talked. I knew something was definitely going on that you weren't telling everybody. After I found the stone and summoned her, I realized that she was the reason you were behaving so strangely. That was how you were able to handle your grief so well and why you were no longer associating with anyone else that was formerly a part of your life."

"I still fail to see how it's any of your goddamned business," Santana said. "Or why, in the name of all that is sweet and holy, you told _her_."

She jerked her head in Rachel's direction.

"I didn't know where else to go," Quinn protested. "No one else could help me. Rachel cares about you, too, just like I do. We're trying to help you get better."

"I'm already there," their hostess insisted as she spread her arms wide.

"No, you're not," Quinn retorted. "You look like hell. You're losing weight. You're cutting yourself off from the world and everybody in it."

"Which is my prerogative," the widow insisted. "Maybe this isn't the most conventional way to deal with my situation, and it certainly isn't without its faults, but it's what works for me."

"But does it work for her?"

Again, Santana was left speechless.

"Did she say she was unhappy?" she asked shakily.

"No, but you know just as well as I do that Britt was never one for putting her own needs first. Do you honestly think that this fairytale solution you've cooked up is in any way as comforting for her as it is for you?"

The other woman lowered her head and folded her hands tightly together. She did not respond.

"Santana, I am so, so sorry for everything that has happened to you both," Quinn said earnestly. "I wish more than anything that this tragedy could have happened to anyone else but you. Neither of you deserved this. But it did happen, and now you have to face the even harder part and admit to yourself that it's time to let go."

The dark haired woman's head shot back up at that last sentence and her eyes pleaded for an alternative - anything but that.

"I don't want her to go either," the blonde confessed to her. "God, what I wouldn't give if we could just have her back! She was the best of all of us. Only Brittany could have had enough warmth, kindness, and love in her heart to bring together three people who hated each other as much as we all did growing up. She was the hub of the wheel and, without her here to connect us, none of us know how to get anywhere."

Rachel nodded sadly. Quinn dropped to her knees on the carpet and took Santana's hand.

"But we have to."

The grieving brunette met her gaze. She did not argue but simply looked back at her and waited for the other woman to tell her what to do.

"Just talk to her," the blonde whispered urgently. "Your entire lives together, she spent her every waking moment being there for you. This is your chance to return the gesture."

Santana sucked on her lower lip and thought for a moment. At last, she gave a single reluctant nod.

"Okay," Quinn said with a sigh of relief. "We'll let that be something that you do on your own. This is between you and Brittany; all we wanted was to know that you'd be ready to hear whatever she may have to say. Come on, Rachel."

She stood and beckoned for the other woman still seated on the couch. Rachel followed her lead and they walked toward the doorway. When they reached it, the blonde paused for a moment to look back.

"Don't forget; I meant what I said. If you need me at any time, I'm here, all right?"

"So am I," her companion agreed.

"I'll remember," Santana said softly. "Thank you."

Quinn and Rachel waved farewell and saw themselves back out into the street. As the sound of their departure echoed through the empty house, Santana got up and walked out into the entrance hall. Her knees knocked together as she stared at the door to her bedroom.

On unsteady legs, she strode toward her destination and turned the knob. Once inside, she crossed the room to her nightstand and pulled the cloth pouch from the top drawer. She removed the leather cord necklace and turned the stone over three times.

Brittany appeared.

The woman took one look at the expression in her wife's eyes and the way that her shoulders sagged with defeat and she knew that there was no avoiding what had to come next. She closed the distance between them and held both of Santana's hands in hers.

"We need to talk."


	7. The Place of You

"Is it true?"

These first three words slipped from Santana's lips involuntarily as she sank onto the edge of the bed.

Brittany knelt down on the floor so she could still meet her gaze.

"Is what true?"

"You talked to Quinn?"

"Yes," the blonde replied softly.

The other woman sucked in a sharp breath at the confirmation. Her lip trembled but she batted her lashes and looked around the room to maintain her composure.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered as she swallowed to quell the sobs rising in her throat.

"I tried, Santana. You don't know how long I've been trying. It just seemed like every time that I tried to bring it up you'd fall asleep, change the subject, or...," she searched for a delicate way to word the last part. "...We'd stop talking altogether."

The brunette thought back over the past few weeks. True enough, she could remember at least a handful of times that Brittany had seemed on the verge of telling her something that was troubling her. However, she had always found some way to avoid having that conversation. How long had she been cutting her off? She hadn't even realized that she'd been doing it, until this moment. Why had she been so afraid to let her speak?

Her wife saw the acknowledgement of this on her face and continued.

"Did Quinn say anything to you about what we discussed?"

"She just said that you talked. Not anything specific. She seems to think that having you here with me is bad for you. She made it sound like you're not happy."

Santana's eyes lowered to search Brittany's face carefully.

"Are you unhappy, Britt?"

The other woman sighed heavily. She stood and turned to sit on the bed beside her spouse. The brunette stiffened, already anxious over the fact that she hadn't received an immediate answer.

"It depends on which part of this you're focusing on when you ask me that," Brittany admitted as she wove their fingers together.

"I don't understand," Santana said quietly.

"Am I happy getting to spend all my time with you again, the way I did before? Yes," her wife began while choosing her words with careful consideration. "But am I happy to be _here, _to be living in this world where I don't belong now? ... No."

The smaller woman lowered her head at this last utterance and closed her eyes as she tried to accept it.

"Why not?" she finally asked. Her voice was so low that her spouse could scarcely hear it.

"It doesn't feel right. I'm uneasy in my own body," Brittany explained. "It's not natural. I always feel like I'm out of place, like everything around me knows I'm not supposed to be here anymore."

"What about... what about when you're with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said you're happy being with me but that's emotionally, right? What about physically? The rest of the world makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin; what about with me?"

Here was the hard part. Brittany removed her fingers from Santana's before responding because she knew her heart would shatter if she felt her wife recoil. She clasped her hands in her lap and ducked her head.

"I can't feel it."

"At all?"

She shook her head and the brunette saw a tear slip off the tip of her nose.

"So, those nights when you and I were together... You were only doing that for me?"

Another nod. A sniffle.

"Oh, God," Santana murmured.

She thought back to the first exchange when she found herself unable to sleep. The more she remembered, the more that this revelation explained why something had seemed amiss.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked again and her voice shook slightly as she posed the question.

"Because," Brittany replied. "I was afraid of what it would do to you. This has been so hard on you, Santana, and I knew how much you needed to have it all back, even for a little while..."

"But still, what about you?" Santana interjected. "I've been so busy enjoying how I finally got to feel better that I completely missed the fact that you've been stuck in your own private hell!"

"It hasn't been hell," her wife insisted. "It just hasn't been the same as it was."

"Never feeling like I fit into my own life, having the woman I love be oblivious to my misery, getting fucked and not being able to feel a goddamned thing... That sure sounds like hell to me!"

Her eyes were slightly crazed and she was beginning to rock back and forth. Her arms were wound tightly around her body and crisscrossed under her chest. It was as if she was fastening herself into an invisible straightjacket. Fear gripped Brittany at the sight of it and she dropped back to the floor again to try to break through the brunette's hysteria.

"Santana. Santana, look at me," she said insistently.

Her wife refused, so she grabbed both sides of her face and held her forcefully in place until she made eye contact.

"This is _not_ your fault. Not any of it. You had no way of knowing if I didn't tell you."

"But that's just it. I did know. Shit, the more we talk about it, the more warning signs are coming back to me. How long was I willing to turn a blind eye and pretend everything was exactly the same just so I didn't have to deal with the truth?"

"We both wanted to pretend, Santana," Brittany pointed out. "It wasn't just you. We spent almost our entire lives together. We've been the center of each other's worlds. Neither of us knew what everything else was supposed to revolve around without the other one there."

The dark haired woman pressed one shaking hand over her eyes as they closed. Her knuckles went white from the pressure she was putting on her lids as she tried to trap in the tears.

"I just don't see the point of anything when you're not here," she finally choked out. "I mean, I did manage to at least get myself back to my routine before I went looking for the stone, but that first week after you... after you died, I couldn't even move. I went to that graveyard every day to just lay down next to that mound of dirt. From sunrise to sunset, I was on my back looking at the sky and talking to you like you were still there. I barely even ate. It was like I couldn't keep track of time if I wasn't telling myself, 'Oh, I need to go meet up with Brittany for our lunch date' or 'I can't stay late to go through these files because I promised to take Britt out to dinner tonight.' There were no checkpoints with you to move me through my day."

Her wife nodded quietly.

"I'm so, so sorry, Brittany," Santana said while taking both of the other woman's hands in hers. "You shouldn't have had to go through what you've been feeling on your own for so long. I should have picked up on it; I should have done something. It's not healthy, the kind of isolation I've been putting you through."

"You didn't do it on purpose," the blonde responded kindly. "Besides, it hasn't exactly been healthy for you, either."

"How so?"

Brittany frowned.

"I need you to see something."

She helped Santana to her feet and led her into their bathroom. Gently, she placed a hand on either of her spouse's shoulders and stood her directly in front of the mirror over the sink.

"Look at yourself," she instructed.

The brunette complied and, after a moment's inspection, she began to suck on her lower lip.

"I guess I do look kinda rough, huh?" she asked while she took in the frighteningly dark circles under her eyes and the ever-deepening age lines on her face.

"Also...," Brittany said as she reached for the bottom of Santana's shirt. "There's this."

Carefully, she edged the material up until it rested under her wife's chest, revealing the startlingly visible ribcage beneath the taut skin. The shorter woman traced the bones with the tips of her fingers. She lifted her head to meet the blonde's gaze in the glass.

"How long have I been like this?"

"A while," Brittany admitted. "Since I can't eat anything anymore, you just pick at your meals while you're talking to me. I've tried to sort of take over the conversations while we're at the table, just so you have more time for your food, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. You hardly touch a thing and never mention feeling hungry later."

She slid her arms around Santana's waist and was careful not to squeeze too hard as she closed the embrace.

"Not to mention the fact that you barely sleep these days. Sometimes I lose track of how many times you wake up in the night crying or calling out my name. Sure, you just grab my arm, pull me around you, and then go right back to sleep. Still, it's throwing off your schedule and I don't know how much longer your body can take it."

"Why haven't I noticed this happening to me?" the brunette asked shakily as she clasped onto her wife's wrists with trembling hands.

"Because you didn't want to," her spouse stated. "I feel horrible for letting you carry on this way for as long as you have. If no one else that has seen you said a word, then I at least should have had the courage to speak up. You've been cutting yourself off from the rest of reality for a really long time now and you're wearing yourself into the ground."

Santana twisted around so she could look Brittany in the eye.

"So what happens now?" she queried tremulously, but her dark eyes revealed that she already knew the answer.

"We have to move forward," the blonde replied. "For both our sakes."

The widow broke free from the other woman's arms and went back into their bedroom. She plunked down at the foot of their bed and looked at her hands resting in her lap.

"I have to let you go."

It was a statement, not a question. However, she lifted her head to see how Brittany responded to this. Her wife nodded almost imperceptibly. The two fell silent as they fought to keep from crying. Santana shuddered and rubbed her shoulders as she looked helplessly around the room. The blonde was at her side in an instant and enfolded the smaller woman in her arms as they rested their heads together. They rocked in place for a time, each unable to properly soothe the other in the midst of their own pain.

"Are you gonna be okay once you're gone?" Santana asked as her voice balanced on the precipice of a sob. "What if you get lonely?"

Brittany shook her head gently.

"Nah, that's where people get things all mixed up. Once they've gone on, the dead don't feel the misery of solitude. They're the souls left in this world, the ones we leave behind, that are really the lonely ones. Honestly, Santana, after what happened to me... I still don't really have the words to describe everything that I experienced but I can tell you this much: aside from wanting to know that you were okay, I was fine. I promise. Everything's going to be all right for me."

Santana shook her head in wonder as tears began to slide down the sides of her face.

"It should have been me instead of you."

"Shh, don't say things like that."

"I just don't know where you find the courage to face this. You've always been so much braver than I'll ever be. Sometimes I think the Sorting Hat put you in the wrong house."

"Do you want to know something funny?" Brittany asked as she wiped her wife's tears away. "I think the hat thought the same thing. It almost put me in Gryffindor that night, but it changed its mind at the last minute."

"You never told me that."

"It's not really something I thought about that much, but yeah, the hat did mention bravery while its voice was talking to me. In the end, though, it said my loyalty was even stronger."

She shrugged self-consciously and tucked her hair behind her ear.

Santana clasped Brittany's hand tightly in hers.

"I'd say that was accurate," she said sincerely.

Several iridescent droplets trickled from the corners of Brittany's eyes while she looked down at their interlocked fingers.

"Just promise me one thing, okay?" she asked in a strained voice as she struggled to speak without a tremor. "You can't go back to the way you were before you found me. And you can't live the way you've been since you brought me back, either. I need you to go out again, Santana. I need you to talk to other people, spend time with friends, and carry on with your career. I need you to swear to me that no matter how hard this gets - and it's definitely not going to be easy - you're going to _live_."

Santana nodded but Brittany wasn't satisfied. She removed her hand from her wife's hold and held it aloft, extending the pinky.

"Promise?"

The brunette hesitated. She looked down at the crooked finger for a moment with a frown but finally lifted her own hand and curled her pinky through the open space.

"I promise. I swear, Britt. No matter what. I've spent all these years demanding so much from you and taking so much. If this is the one thing you ask of me, then I'll do it."

A relieved smile broke across Brittany's face. She took in the way Santana squared her shoulders in determination and lifted her head high with that familiar Lopez pride shining in her eye.

"That's my girl," the blonde murmured affectionately.

"I'm just really going to miss you," the smaller woman admitted as her throat began to constrict.

"I'm going to miss you, too," her spouse assured her and placed one hand lovingly against her cheek.

The dark haired woman leaned into the touch. She pulled Brittany close and kissed her repeatedly, moving her mouth quickly as if she wanted to exchange enough caresses to span the lifetime that they would no longer get to share. The blonde returned that passion equally and draped both arms around Santana's neck as she closed her eyes and treasured their last good-bye.

"It's not the end," Brittany whispered reassuringly in the fractions of seconds that their lips were apart. "You'll see me again, when the time comes. We'll be together then."

"What do I do with the stone?"

"Take it to our vault," the blonde instructed. "If it's there, it's out of sight and out of mind. You can get on with your life; do your best to pretend that it no longer exists."

"Okay," the widow agreed reluctantly. "That's probably best."

They brought their lips together a few times more and lingered to remember every nuance of the sensation.

Her hands began to shake violently, but Santana did as she knew that she needed to and wrapped one palm around the Resurrection Stone. She pulled the cloth pouch out of her pocket with her free hand and tugged the cord off her neck. Carefully, she made sure the top of the bag was wide open and then held the stone over its waiting home.

She lifted her eyes to meet her wife's and the blonde's hands reached out to wrap around hers. They would release the Hallow for the final time together.

"I love you," Brittany said warmly.

"I love you," Santana returned.

Then they both inhaled deeply and nodded to each other.

Now.

_One_. _Two_. _Three_.


	8. Epilogue  Where There Once Was Love

The rattle and clack of the cart along the track was almost deafening. Quinn gripped the edge anxiously and dug her nails into the wood beneath her fingers. Even on the ride back from the impossibly distant vault, she somehow felt just as uncertain of her safety as she had on the way there. With her free hand, she pressed the small cloth pouch to her chest and said a silent prayer that she'd make it back to solid ground.

When the ride was over, she walked through the lobby shakily and her shoes clacked unevenly against the marble floor. Two sets of doors later, she was back in the glaringly bright sunlight of midday. On a nearby bench, Rachel lifted her head at the other woman's approach and slowly rose to her feet. She gripped the small of her back and winced as she straightened her spine. The brunette had grown stiff from sitting in the same place for so long. One age-spotted hand shielded her wrinkled eyes from the glare and she smiled as her companion drew nearer.

"Did you get it?" she asked unnecessarily, having already spotted the bag clutched in the other woman's fingers.

"It was exactly where she said it would be," Quinn replied.

Her green eyes studied the familiar pouch with a wistful expression as she remembered the last time she had seen it so many years ago. She swallowed and blinked her eyes several times before smoothing her black dress to avoid looking up for a moment. Rachel feigned interest in the surrounding buildings and passersby while she respectfully waited for the blonde to lift her head again.

"Are you ready?" the taller woman asked at last.

"Yeah," Rachel responded with a somber nod. "It's time."

They held hands and walked until they found a suitably clear street. Closing her eyes to concentrate, Quinn called their destination into her mind and they disapparated.

When she opened them again, they were on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The wind whipped her short hair into her eyes, and she had to tuck it back behind her ears to get a clear view of the endless stretch of sky and sea. Rachel's braid, laced visibly with myriad streaks of gray, shone brilliantly as it was touched by the glow of unfiltered sunshine.

"Do you want to do the honors?" Quinn asked as she held the bag open for Rachel to reach inside.

The shorter woman nodded somewhat nervously and pulled out the Resurrection Stone. Her mouth hung slightly agape as she inspected the dark rock for the first time. It was just as the stories she'd heard in school described it. She drew a shaky breath, straightened her shoulders, and tried to focus on the task at hand.

"Here goes," she murmured quietly before turning the stone over in her palm.

One turn. Two turns. Three.

They were there. The immediacy of their appearance made Rachel jump initially, but gradually the hammering of her heart quieted. It was incredible; they both looked exactly the way they had the last time she had seen them alive as a couple - on their tenth wedding anniversary. Brittany and Santana stood side-by-side at the cliff's edge and smiled serenely at their old schoolmates.

"We did what you asked us to do," Quinn told Santana. "I got the stone from the bank and we brought it here to the place you chose."

"Thank you," Santana said. "It really is better this way. It will do more harm than good if we leave it to fall into corrupt or uneducated hands. After today, it can fade into legend and eventually be forgotten just like the Invisibility Cloak and the Elder Wand."

Rachel and Quinn bobbed their heads in silent agreement.

"It's so good to see the two of you together again," the shorter brunette said sincerely. "Especially after your funeral, Santana. When all those people were gathered around it was hard not feel sad. Now, though, looking at you with Brittany... You're in a better place. You found peace."

"Yeah, I did," Santana agreed with a contented smile. "I lived a really long, really good life, and now I get to be back with the woman who made that possible."

She linked her pinky with Brittany's and her wife beamed at her proudly.

"Well, I guess this is it," Quinn mused as she looked around at the other three women. "Time to complete the act. The four of us, just the way we started."

They all nodded while they reflected on the memory.

"Is it okay if we say good-bye?" the former Ravenclaw asked tearfully.

"Of course it is," Brittany insisted and extended her arms.

Quinn rushed into them gratefully and held her best friend in a tight grip. She burrowed her head into the other blonde's hair and closed her eyes. Her chest burned, but for a few moments she pretended that she would never have to let go.

While they exchanged their final sentiments, Rachel slowly approached Santana. Her lips twitched in a feeble smile. The taller brunette threw her arms wide and smiled back. The smaller woman's vision blurred at this unexpected kindness, and she stepped forward into the hug with a broadening grin.

"I'm really sorry you and I didn't get along better when we were growing up," Rachel apologized through her tears.

"That's okay," Santana replied sweetly. "We're friends now and that's all that matters."

After a few minutes of talking to one another, they traded places. Brittany lovingly tugged Rachel closer to enfold her in her arms and Quinn hesitantly offered Santana a last embrace.

"Quinn, I want to apologize for being so awful to you," the brunette insisted earnestly as she rested her chin on her companion's shoulder. "You did nothing wrong. You were always so nice to me, even when I least deserved it. Forgive me?"

The blonde nodded as her cheeks flushed with a fresh surge of emotions.

"Of course I do. Besides, things improved between us after you separated yourself from the stone. We got along better than we ever had."

"Still, I needed you to know that I appreciated what you did for me. All of it, even the parts that got on my last nerve. Brittany was right about you all along. You're a really great person and an even better friend."

Quinn pulled away from the hug and swiped at her face with the back of her hand.

"You, too," she choked out as she returned to her place at Rachel's side. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Oh, I'm going to be just fine," Santana assured her as she reached out to hold Brittany's hand. "Never better."

She and her wife smiled at their friends one more time and then gave the nod to indicate that the moment had arrived. Rachel handed the Resurrection Stone to Quinn, who walked with it to the farthest edge of the cliff.

After taking a steadying breath, she wound her arm back and released the stone from her hand. As it arced through the air, Brittany and Santana disappeared from sight... forever.

"Good-bye," she and her companion whispered in unison to the empty space the couple left behind.

Rachel held out her hand. Quinn accepted it as she linked their arms. The two women leaned their heads together as they wandered away and didn't even look back as the falling Hallow dipped at last and sank below the undulating waves.


End file.
